Christmas in Brooklyn
by Heidi Patacki
Summary: " ... She was still Helga and he was still Arnold: the enemies, the lovers, the eternal paradox..."
1. Canada

****

Part one: Canada

Helga Pataki-Kramer sat in front of the small hotel mirror, nervously brushing her hair. Tommorow she would have to sell the biggest presentation of her career, and she had the jitters for the first time in awhile. Usually her business skills were flawless; she was a ruthless and cunning salesperson, much like her father had been. But something about this trip to Canada to close the Turner Broadcasting deal had been making her a nervous wreck all week. Throughout the week's meetings and business lunches she'd been picking at her professional manicure and tearing up napkins… she had a bad feeling about the whole thing. 

Helga put down her brush and picked up the phone to call her husband, Dirk Kramer. He was a shewrd business person as well; a former apprentince of her father's, he had migrated into the cell-phone business. He sold "cheap" pay-by-minute rip off deals to cell phone users around the country. Dirk and Helga were rarely together, both of their jobs required a lot of travel. Sometimes Helga felt she was losing all human contact with her husband of only five years; she did her best to keep in touch through long distance phone calls, but sometimes even their phone conversations felt forced. 

" Hello?" a woman's voice answered the phone when she called their home in Vermont. Strange, Helga thought, pausing. Did I dial the wrong number?

" Hel-LO?" the woman said again, annoyed with the puzzled silence of the other line. Helga cleared her throat.

" Ah, yes, this is Mrs. Kramer," she said, leaving off the hyphen in her last name on this occasion, " Is Dirk there, please?"

Helga heard a tiny gasp in the woman's throat.

" Who IS this, by the way?" Helga asked, making her tone a bit harsh. " Is this the Kramer residance?" She was pretty sure she knew her own phone number—she called home more often than she spent her nights there. But her finger could have slipped…

CLICK. The woman on the other end hung up. Helga's hand shook a bit as she replaced the receiver. I could call again… she thought, but her hands were trembling and she was tired. No, she decided, I'll just go to bed. Better not to think too much about this before the meeting tommrow…

With that she slid into an old t-shirt and some lounge pants, and climbed under the fluffy hotel covers. Her company always made sure she had the best accommadations when travelling. I really do lead a charmed life, Helga thought, don't I? I'm a woman of power and influence, I make more money than my father ever did, and I'm certainly more satisfied with myself than my mother was. 

She tried not to think about Dirk as she drifted off to sleep. She tried especially to avoid the nagging idea that she wouldn't even care if he WAS cheatin g on her. My marriage is not a joke, Helga reassured herself mentally. Everything is going the way I planned….

__

It was night, and she was back in New York. Snow fell softly from the blanketed sky, making the city quieter somehow. But then, there had always been a strange quiet that fell over her old neighborhood—a safe, reassuring barrier of soundlessness. Only a few sirens from distant police cars echoed off the empty streets.

It was late, and Helga was walking alone. But she wasn't scared—she had a bizzare feeling that someone was watching out for her. 

Suddenly someone behind her kicked a can, sending it flying out in front of her. Helga gasped, and whirled around. She was surprised to see her childhood friend " Curly" Adams, standing and observing her with a knowing stare. 

" Curly?" Helga's voice was sharp against the silent night. Curly smiled slowly.

" He waits for you," he said, shyly kicking at the ground. Helga suddenly realized that she was the same age as Curly—they both were young children again, no more than ten or elevan.

" Who—what?" she asked, pulling at her geeky pink dress. She hadn't worn such an ugly, gigantic bow in her hair since her days as an elementary school bully.

" He waits," Curly said again, turning to go. Helga started to walk after him, when suddenly a manhole cover flew open under her feet. Helga screamed, and went flying through the air. Out of the sewers poured a thick, black smoke. She screamed again, and turned to run, but the smoke had her. She was choking, gasping for air.

" Arnold!" she sobbed in frustration.

Helga woke up panting for air. The light in her hotel room was bright, and her alarm was going off. That dream… Arnold? Her childhood crush? Why dream about him, and the old neighborhood, now? She hadn't been back there in years… but the dream seemed to have awakened an ache in her that she'd been pushing aside for just as long… she suddenly didn't care that she was late for her meeting. 

Helga appathetically got dressed and gathered her materials for the meeting. Arnold. That… bastard. He'd never paid her a second glance in a romatic light, dating only pure hearted and virginal girls in their high school years. Meanwhile, Helga was going through intensive therapy, and problems with alcohol. She had come to hate him and all his easy goodness as much as she'd loved it as a child. I was never good enough for Arnold, she thought sourly. Leave him to bubble-headed goody-two-shoes like Lila or Ruth… Helga couldn't believe all of this was coming back to her. It was more than ten years ago that she'd graduated…

He'd caught up to her after the ceremony…

__

" I wanted to wish you well, Helga," he'd said, naively, looking at her with a mixture of fear and pity that she detested.

" What the hell do you care?" she'd asked him with a trademarked glare, puffing on her eighth cigarette of the day. 

Arnold shook his head sadly, and Helga almost wanted to believe his sorrowful act. But he was just being haughty… trying to hold his perfection and idealism over her head like always. 

" We used to be friends," he said cautiously, " I'm sorry the way things turned out. I hope you have a good life, Helga."

Far better than yours, I'm sure, she thought bitterly, walking out of the hotel room. Arnold was probably still living in the slums, doing some lousy thing like teaching preschool or reading to blind kids… hmph. People like him just didn't know what real life was all about. 

Helga felt a pang in her stomach as she thought that. She rushed downstairs and outside to catch a taxi. It wasn't really true that Arnold hadn't had his share of hardships… both parents dead before he learned to speak… his grandparents had died when he was fifteen, leaving him alone in the world. He'd moved in with his friend Gerald for awhile to finish high school, and afterward gotten a scholarship to study in Nova Scotia. But to be completely orphaned as he was… Of course Helga knew how that felt. She hadn't spoken to her parents in years. She and her father had openly hated each other since she'd reached adolesance, and her mother was a mere shell of shallowness and self-loathing… the only thing the two were good for was worshiping her older sister Olga. Olga was living in Switzerland with her French husband Kenyun; both were doctors, and they had three perfect children, blond-haired little girls with pigtails and bows. Olga, the well-meaning fool, still sent Helga pictures of her family at Christmas. It was all she could do not to throw them away; although she knew it wasn't Olga's fault, Helga felt so cheated by her older sister.

By the time Helga got to the Turner affiliate in downtown Quebec, she was in a rotten mood. Her charts and graphs shoved haphazardly under her arm, she climbed into the elevator and hit the button for the 61st floor. Why did that lame dream have to show up now and ruin her day with bad memories of her past? And what was with that smoke at the end? Why did she scream Arnold's name? Why not… Dirk's? 

As if Dirk would save me in a crisis, Helga thought. He'd be too busy closing the deal on some cell phone suckers… Of course Arnold had actually saved her life once, during a flood at school. She'd cried out his name then, too, as the water was carrying her away… and he'd caught her. 

" Its almost Christmas," said a voice behind her, and Helga whirled around with a gasp. She hadn't realized there was an old woman riding the elevator with her. The old lady was leaning comfortably into the corner, hands folded neatly over her stomach, her velvety purple dress hanging gracefully around her ankles. 

" Um, yes," Helga said, " I suppose it is." December 5, that was the date of the meeting, which was today. Only twenty days until Christmas. She and Dirk usually used their holiday vacation time to go to Aruba. They never celebrated. 

" Have you been good this year?" the old woman asked with a strange smile. Helga frowned. What was she implying? She yanked down on her black skirt so it wouldn't look so short—the control top on her sheer tights was showing.

" Well, of course I have," Helga snapped, flipping her hair out of her eyes. 

" Good to yourself, even?" the woman asked.

" Hey, look," Helga said, tapping her foot and wishing the elevator would hurray up and reach the 61st floor. " I'm the most emotionally healthy person I know. Alright lady?"

The woman cast an abstract glance up at the elevator's ceiling. 

" Which of us knows what we trully need?" she asked quietly. " Even what we trully want?"

" Huh?"

" If you could have one thing for Christmas," the old lady said, looking back at Helga, " What would it be?"

" None of your business!" Helga cried. What was with the random interegation? One thing I want for Christmas? She was tempted to say: For you to shut your fat trap, lady!

I want a chance to show all those bums in New York what a diva I've become, Helga thought with a snicker. To really kick the mud in their pathetic faces. 

As the elevator approached the top of the building, Helga began to hear a clicking sound. She yanked on her collar a bit as it got louder.

" What the hell is that?" she muttered. She turned to look at the old woman—her eyes were shut. She looks so peaceful, Helga thought. What a clod.

Suddenly the lights in the elevator went out. A glaring red emergency light snapped on above them, and the elevator halted to an awkward stop. Helga was thrown backward against the right wall.

" Damn!" she shouted, as her papers for the meeting cascaded to the floor. She started to bend down to pick them up when she heard a noise from above:

SNAP. Snap-snap-snap! A quick succession of cracking sounds, and the elevator's control panel began to spark. Helga heard a creaking, and felt the elevator begin to move… downward. Slowly at first and then faster…

" Oh, hell!" she screamed, looking at the old woman, who still remained calm. 

" What is this?" she cried as they plumeted to their doom. 

" Hold on," the woman said softly, and Helga frantically clawed at the floor of the elevator, finding nothing to hold on to. They were picking up speed now…

" Arnold!" she screamed without meaning to before the crash that silenced her.

__

It was cold in New York. Helga was alone on the streets, searching for a sign. Everything seemed to be closed down, and the old neighborhood looked like a ghost town. She came to a stop in front of her father's old store: Big Bob's Beeper Emporium. The windows had bars on them; some vandals had broken them in places nevertheless. There was a long stream of hot pink graffiti across the front doors. 

CLOSED, read a sign in one of the windows, Building For Sale.

Helga stood before her father's old workplace for a long time, watching the shadows and jagged edges of broken glass, faded memories. Finally she picked up a rock, and brought her arm back to pitch it through the glass on the front door. She was about to throw it when a small child ran out in front of her, giggling.

" Phebe?" Helga exclaimed in disbelief when she recognized who the girl was. Her childhood best friend hadn't aged since she last saw her, a troubled and awkward visit to Phebe's Ivy League college. Helga looked down at herself, and sure enough, she was wearing the clothing and shoes of her youth.

" Follow me!" Phebe beckoned, running behind the Beeper Emporium, down an unlit alleyway. Helga trotted curiously after her, her heart beating faster.

" Pheebs, wait!" she called, trying to keep up. Phebe stopped up ahead, and pointed into a dark doorway that branched off of the alley on the opposite side of the Beeper Emporium. Helga came to a stop beside her, pausing a moment to catch her breath.

" What is this place?" Helga asked, peeking into the creepy doorway.

" Look," Phebe said with a learned glance in the direction of the door. Helga reached out and cautiously turned the knob. 

The inside of the building she entered smelled of dust and molded interior. Helga walked carefully inside, and when she turned to look behind her, there was only darkness, no door and no Phebe. Her breath caught, but she continued ahead. 

Inside she saw the glow of a fire. Sitting around it were two figures, hunched and wrapped in dirty blankets. One of them lifted her face to Helga, and behind her smudged glasses, Helga recognized the homeless woman.

" Mirium!" she exclaimed, falling to her knees as she watched her mother, huddled and shivering in the abandoned building. She looked, terrified, to the figure that sat across from her, a larger mass crouched on the floor near the warmth of the fire. 

" Helga," her father called out, his angry brow furrowing. " You left us! You left us to this!"

" Oh, Helga," Mirium whined, " We're so cold… can't you spare just a little warmth?" They started to draw near to her, flithy, hungry phantoms of the parents she'd known.

" No!… No!" Helga shouted, backing away into darkness. Suddenly there was a wall behind her, and she was trapped. " Get back!" she screamed, covering her face with her arms, 

" I have nothing to give you!"

Suddenly she heard Phebe's voice again, a beckon in the darkness. 

" Helga?" she asked, sounding different, inquisitive. " Helga, can you hear me?"

Helga's eyes snapped open, and she was staring up at the face of her long lost friend. Phebe, in all her former and present glory, looking down at her. A shrink-wrapped hospital ID was hanging from her neck, brushing Helga in the face. 

" Helga, oh my goodness," Phebe said, standing back and retriving a chart from the end of the bed. " You're a real live miracle."

" _Phebe_?" Helga asked in disbelief. " What is this?" 

" This is intensive care," Phebe explained flatly, " And I was just as surprised as you. Welcome back to the land of the living."

" What…" Helga stuttered, slowly remembering the elevator crash. " Where am I?"

" Downtown Mahatten," Phebe explained, looking somberly out the window at the city below. " You were rushed here from Quebec—trust me, you DON'T want to be treated for extensive cranial damage in a Canadian hospital."

" What? This doesn't make any sense!" Helga tried to sit up, but the pain was terrible.

" Relax," Phebe said, " Its just a coincedance. Your husband is waiting downstairs."

" Oh, HIM," Helga groaned, feeling bold.

" Would you like me to explaing the extent of your injuries?" Phebe asked, " Or shall I go ahead and send Mr. Kramer up?"

" God, explain first," Helga moaned.

" Well," Phebe began, " First of all, you've been in a coma for over a week. But not to worry, miraculously there was no permadent brain damage. And your muscles have not atrophied, so physical therapy won't be nessacary. However, there was extensive scarring and dihabilitation. Your left arm is broken, and both your ankles have fractured. As you can see we have already put you in casts."

" Good Lord," Helga muttered, examining her torn up body.

" You should thank your lucky stars that your neck wasn't broken," Phebe said, taking a sip of a diet coke she was holding.

" You know that stuff will give you cancer," Helga said. Phebe shrugged. " Hey," said Helga, " What about the old woman?"

" What?"

" The old woman in the elevator," Helga said, " She was with me when we crashed."

" Well, if she lived, she wasn't brought here for treatment," Phebe said, " But I'm not really sure. Don't go getting survivors guilt or anything. It wouldn't be your style."

" Hey, give me a break, Phebe!" Helga cried, " What's with the cold attitude? How the hell have you been, anyway?"

" Not bad," Phebe said, " I just went through the divorce of a lifetime, almost lost my license to pratice medicine, and both my cats ran away. But, hey, at least I can walk."

" Smart ass!" Helga quipped. " Well, everything was going fine for me until this nightmare. Seriously, though, Phebes, what happened to you? You seem … I don't know. Changed."

Phebe rolled her eyes, " Imagine that, after eight years." She started to walk out of the room. " I'll send your husband in." 

" Don't bother," Helga mumbled, but Phebe didn't hear her. 

Well, this is a fine mess, Helga thought, trying not to cry. Once her ankles healed she'd be able to get her life together, but in the meantime she'd surely lose her job. Not to mention her youthful good looks—she was horrified with her reflection in the mirror across the room. A helpless looking criple, the girl in the mirror was a lumped mass under the hospital's ugly blue blankets, her arm in a sling and her feet in bootie-like casts. Her cheeks were burnt and there were slashes across the brigde of her nose and her forehead. Her hair was shaved away in places so that the doctors could fix former wounds that were now healing under ugly bandages. Her eyebrows and lashes were singed from the elevator crash's fire.

Dirk walked in wearing a stylish cracked-leather jacket that Helga had never seen before. His hair was slicked back in a new way, and he observed Helga from across the room like a bad car accident.

" Babe," he said, " Look at you."

" I know," Helga said, " Pathetic. Who would have guessed I was mortal?"

Dirk forced a laugh. He looked extremely uncomfortable. He pushed his light brown hair off his forehead and sat down next to her bed.

" Well," Helga said with a sigh. " What did I miss this past week? Did you bring me the Wall Street Journal?"

" Um, no," Dirk said, biting his lower lip, " Helga, I have something to confess."

" What?"

" Well," he began with a heavy, over-dramatic sigh, " When I heard about the accident in Quebec… I thought you were dead."

" My," was all Helga could say. She couldn't read Dirk's expressions at all.

" And," Dirk said, looking at the floor. " I was … relieved."

Helga stared at him. She tried to imagine Dirk in an elevator crash, what her reaction would be. Maybe not sorrow… but certainly not _relief_.

" You … what?" she asked, flabbergasted.

" Helga, I realize this comes at an unopertune time," he said, " But, I want a divorce."

Helga couldn't believe what she was hearing. I wake up from a coma to THIS?

" You lousy son of a bitch!" she shouted, " Get out!"

Dirk stood up and straightened his jacket. " If that's the way you want to play it old gal," he said pompously. " You'll hear from my lawyers." With that he walked brisquely out of the room.

Helga laid in her bed, staring at the ceiling. What have I done? She wondered with tears in her eyes. What have I done to deserve this?

TO BE CONTINED…

In Part Two: Brooklyn


	2. Vermont

****

Christmas In Brooklyn: Part Two

Author's note: I realize I said part two would be called Brooklyn, but I extended the beginning a bit, and it'll now be known as … Vermont. ;0) I hope you guys are enjoying this series! I'm really glad to see so much more Hey, Arnold! Fanfiction on this site lately! Sorry about the misspelling of Phoebe's name in my last fic! Enjoy ~ H.P.

Vermont

" I sold my soul … what is it worth?" – Ash "A Life Less Ordinary"

Helga got out of her hospital bed for the last time on December 16th. Both her ankles had healed quickly, and although her arm was still in a cast, her other features were returning to normal. Her hair was now shorter and she had a permanent scar on her forehead, but the bruises and burn scars had healed, and she was feeling a lot better.

Phoebe came into the room as Helga was readying her things to go. She was drinking her usual diet coke, regarding Helga with a careful disdain.

"Well, Pheebs, thanks for the life-saving and all," Helga chirped, 

" But I'm off to salvage what's left of it."

Phoebe scoffed, " You always were resilient," she said, " Even if it was sometimes phony. Where are you going to go, anyway? I thought your husband left you."

" Gee, Pheebs, thanks for the sensitivity," Helga muttered. Not that she really cared about Dirk. He had stirred up her life a bit, but maybe that was in order.

" I told you to stop calling me Pheebs. No one calls me that anymore. No one EVER called me that, save you."

" If you must know," Helga said, ignoring her previous comment, 

" I'm headed back to Vermont to put my things in boxes. Unless Dirk's lawyer got possession of my nightgowns and shampoos as well as the house and cars … not that I wouldn't put it past him."

" You're going to face Dirk again so soon?" Phoebe asked in small disbelief, " Speaking as a divorcee, that's brave."

" Actually, no," Helga answered, tossing her purse over her good shoulder, " Dirk happens to be in Holland this week, if my memory serves."

" All tests indicate that your memory is intact," Phoebe muttered.

" Excellent," Helga said, walking over to Phoebe and slapping the petite woman affectionately on the back. " Then I'm off. Good luck to you. I mean it, Pheebs. Dr. Phoebe, that is. I'm sorry we lost touch. You were my only real friend throughout the 'bad years'."

" Hmph," Phoebe muttered, looking out the window, " I don't suppose you're drinking again?"

" Not at the moment," Helga answered, " And not for years. Don't worry, this divorce isn't going to shake me up that bad. Truthfully, its been a long time coming, I just didn't want to admit it. And yet… I'm DYING for a cancer stick."

" How cliché," Phoebe said, " Even _I_ tried smoking after my divorce."

Helga was quiet for a moment. And then: " I meant what I said, Phoebe. Best wishes. Adieu."

" Helga!" Phoebe shouted as she was walking out the door. Helga turned and gave her a quizzical frown. Phoebe sighed deeply and rolled her eyes.

" Do you need some help?" Phoebe asked with some reluctance, 

" Moving, that is? Because I know what you're going through. And, hell, I missed you too. Somehow."

Helga was taken aback. The prestigious Dr. Phoebe wanted to help _her_? She toyed with the strap of her purse.

" Well, sure," Helga said, shocked. " I could use an extra pair of hands … not to mention your car."

" Because I have a few vacation days," Phoebe explained self-consciously. " And God knows I won't be jetting off to Bora Bora anytime soon."

" Amen to that," Helga said with a hidden smile, and the two walked out the door together.

Helga and Phoebe headed to Vermont in Phoebe's classic green-blue Cadillac. Phoebe sat staunchly in the driver's seat, the sun reflecting in her small spectacles, making bright yellow circles of light over her eyes.

Helga relaxed in the passenger seat, picking boredly at the plaster on her cast. She didn't really know what she was going to do after she moved out of the Vermont estate: she had no other place to go. While she did have quite a bit of money saved, it wasn't really enough to buy a house—not without some collateral.

" So," Helga attempted some conversation, " Do you keep in touch with anyone from the old neighborhood?"

Phoebe rolled her eyes, " No," she answered at first. " But I do know what they're up to, from visits to Brooklyn to see my parents. I actually moved back there for a few weeks after the divorce."

" How is the old place doing?" Helga asked, trying not to sound too curious. She really hadn't thought about this stuff in a long time.

" Alright, I guess," Phoebe said, " It's a little more dangerous than it was when we were kids, of course. And a lot of the old characters are gone. The pigeon man, the old butcher, Arnold's grandparents…"

" Arnold!" Helga said with a dramatic scoff. " Certainly haven't given that name any thought in years!" she lied. " Is that loser still in New York?"

Phoebe nodded slowly. " He moved back after his wife died."

" Whoa," Helga said quietly. " He was married?"

" So were you," Phoebe reminded her.

" What does that have to do with anything?" Helga snapped. She still refused to admit to even Phoebe that she'd ever had feelings for Arnold.

" He was living in Nova Scotia after high school," Phoebe said, " He started working as a photographer, travelling around. He in ended up in … Scotland? I think, and met his former wife … I forget her name. Anyway, she was British, and they were living together in London before she died."

" British," Helga muttered with a disgusted scoff. She looked out the window and watched the snowy landscape fly by as they drove toward her onetime home. Some kids were outside in their yards, building snow men, hanging Christmas lights, playing ice hockey … Helga found herself longing for her youth. She remembered when Arnold's grandfather used to join the kids in snow ball fights in the old neighborhood…

" As for the rest of them," Phoebe continued, " Gerald is still in New York, working for his father. We spoke briefly while I was at home. He's … married as well …" she trailed off sadly. " And Harold is still there, taking care of his mother. He's a strange one … Let's see … Eugene lives somewhere out west, I have no idea what happened to him. Rhonda, of course, has a stylish studio apartment downtown," Phoebe rolled her eyes, 

" Did you hear she wrote a book?"

" What?" Helga asked in disbelief. " Bubblehead fashion girl Rhonda wrote a _book_?" 

" Ugh, yes," Phoebe confirmed, " She wrote it of course under the name Rhonda Rosewood. Its about her bitter divorce with that actor … what's his name, Devon Woodward. He robbed her blind and left her to raise their daughter … You know I actually got so low after Richard left me that I _read_ it?"

" Ew, God," Helga moaned, " What's the story with this Richard guy, anyway? He some fellow doctor?"

" Actually," Phoebe said, " He's a nurse. We worked together at Manhattan International. We were married for three wonderful years. And then he met Ashley."

" Oh," Helga said, " What a name for a mistress."

" Its always an Ashley," Phoebe said with a nod, " Or a Brittany. Oh, hell. I'm okay with it now. I should be thankful I got three years to spend with the guy … I really loved him like nobody's business."

" Ick, how can you talk like that?" Helga asked, sitting up. " The guy is a total moron! How could he leave you, you're perfect!"

" Oh, please," Phoebe said, " I'm not the most attentive little wife. I was always working … I made more money than him … I think he found it belittling."

" Tough crap!" Helga exclaimed, " Trust me, you're better off without him."

" Whatever you say," Phoebe mumbled. 

They arrived at Helga and Dirk's Vermont estate shortly past noon. Helga climbed out and unlocked the gates, and Phoebe marveled at the place as she drove up the stately driveway. Helga loved it here … she would really miss the place. The air smelled of pine and they had a beautiful view of the sunset from their kitchen bay window.

The two women walked inside and Helga flipped on the lights. She went up to her bedroom and began throwing all of her clothes into boxes. She felt somewhat like she was robbing a stranger, and she liked the feeling. She liked the feeling of not belonging to the expensive silk shirts and responsible looking khaki skirts that she packed. She noticed a tiny blinking in the corner of the room, and turned to see that her answering machine was alive with a message.

Phoebe walked in with a few more boxes as Helga hit the "Play" button. She recognized her boss Jerry's voice immediately.

" Hey, Helga dear," his recorded voice greeted her, " Look, honey, I'm really sorry to do this in lieu of the holiday season, but we really have to let you go. We just can't expect you to make up for the week and the key meeting you missed at this time of year. Look, good luck and all, you're a real doll. We'll be shipping the things from your office on Wednesday. So don't bother coming back. Nothing personal! Merry Christmas—and say hello to that rascal Dirk for me!" BEEEP. 

Helga stood in silence for a moment, Phoebe watching her with a pity-filled stare. She sighed, trying not to let the circumstances get the best of her. After all, she had some idea that this might happen.

" Look," Phoebe said, " If you need a place to stay …" 

" Oh, Pheebs," Helga said, turning to her. " You really are the best! Do you know Dirk and I didn't have a single friend? Only business associates. Maybe this elevator accident was … a blessing in disguise! It brought the terrible twosome back together, didn't it?"

" Don't get ahead of yourself," Phoebe snapped, " I don't want to hear any revelations about seeing the light and shunning your former lifestyle… I'm just offering you the sofa in my parents living and maybe some cereal and rice cakes."

" The sofa in your, er, _parents'_ living room?" Helga asked, taken aback. 

" Well, yeah," Phoebe offered, " I don't have room for you at my place. Sincerely. You know it costs an arm and a leg just to live in a closet in the city… well, my apartment is a closet."

" I'll sleep in the refrigerator," Helga muttered.

" I don't _have_ a refrigerator," Phoebe told her, " No room."

" Oh for God's sake!" Helga exclaimed. " Your parents place? I appreciate it Pheebs… they're nice people and all … but I can't go back to Brooklyn now! After everything!"

" Why not?" Phoebe asked in a small shout. " It would do you good to be surrounded by friends."

" What friends?" Helga muttered. " All those people hated me in high school."

" Correction," Phoebe said, " YOU hated THEM. We never excluded you, Helga, you just became *too tough* for us."

" Oh, bull!" Helga snapped, " They were rude to me since kindergarten."  
" Not all of them," Phoebe reminded her. Helga painfully recalled the one child that had befriended her on her first day of school. Arnold. He had given her a ride when she had to walk alone in the rain … 

" Alright, FINE," Helga agreed grudgingly. " But I thought you said most everyone moved away, anyway? Except Harold, and um, Arnold, right?"

" Well, I'm sure everyone will be home for Christmas," Phoebe said,   
" Including me. I only have one week more at the hospital, and then I'm taking off for the holidays."

" GREAT," Helga moaned, " A big, stupid reunion."

" You could always sleep on the streets," Phoebe said with convincing coldness.

" For God's sake!" Helga exclaimed, picking up a couple of boxes full of clothing. " I'll except your crummy hospitality! Geez!" With that she stormed out of the room.

Phoebe raised her eyes to the ceiling. " Grateful as always," she muttered to herself.

Helga fell asleep in the car on the way to Brooklyn. As she drifted off she thought of Arnold. What if she ran in to him at the fruit stand? What if he had changed, like Phoebe, and like herself? What if the idealistic boy she'd loved and hated was now cynical and harsh like the rest of the world?

" Helga!"

She spun around, and he was standing there. Twelve year old Arnold. Standing there, the age when she had last let herself love him and all his innocent well-meaning foolishness.

" Get away from me!" Helga heard herself say harshly. No, you stupid girl!_ She thought, _you'll lose him again!_ But she couldn't make herself apologize, she had no control over her voice in her dream. _

" Helga, please!" Arnold said sadly, " I've missed you… and, we're both lonely. Its Christmastime. Can't we just forgive and forget?"

" Oh shut up!" Helga heard herself snap, and she recoiled in horror. Realizing that she did control her movements, she turned back to him, and looked into his harmless and hurt eyes. She walked slowly toward him, reaching out to him, making her eyes show what she truly felt when her words refused to express it.

" Helga," he said softly, holding out his arms to her. Helga found that she too was at the age of twelve, the last year she'd let her mother dress her in that foolish pink ensemble with the ridiculously huge bow in her hair. 

" Just leave me alone!" she screamed, but there was a crack in her voice, and a tear moved down her cheek as she said it. She continued to walk cautiously toward Arnold's outstretched arms, wanting him to finally hold her so badly that she shook in the Mary Jane shoes of her youth.

Just as the tips of her fingers reached Arnold's, the sky above them darkened. Helga felt a strong breeze move against her, pushing her backward a bit. She reached down to keep the hem of her dress from flying up around her face.

" Helga!" Arnold shouted, and she looked up to see that he was suddenly very far away. She was being blown rapidly backward by some unbelievable force; when she tried to move she found it useless, the strength of the wind was enormous.

" Arrrrnold!" she cried out in agony as she flew backward into a sea of blackness. He was a spot on the disappearing horizon, and then he was gone, his voice in the wind calling out to her in vain as she disappeared into nothingness.

Helga woke up and slammed into her seat belt as Phoebe pounded on the brakes to stop her car from colliding with a taxi in front of them. Her small friend's face twisted in New York-driver anger as she blasted the horn at the offending taxi cab. Helga rubbed her head. It was raining in Brooklyn, and they were stuck in traffic on the bridge.

" Are you alright?" Phoebe asked her, aggravated. " You were whimpering in your sleep, it was giving me the creeps."

" Excuse me for subconsciously annoying you," Helga mumbled. 

" Hey, Pheebs? This is kind of a touchy subject, but … do you know anything about my parents? They're not still in Brooklyn are they?"

Phoebe shook her head, and a huge weight lifted off Helga's shoulders, only to linger over her head ominously. 

" They disappeared after Bob's Beepers went out of business. Ernheart's Mobile Paradise drove them out of business… but I'm sure you know that?"

" Come ON, Pheebs," Helga muttered, " I haven't talked to them since graduation." That wasn't completely true. Helga had seen her mother shortly afterward, before she began attending the community college in Queens. Olga, in true holier-than-thou form, had provided for a sort of family intervention to discuss Helga's drinking problem: one which her father hadn't bothered to attend.

__

" He's having trouble at work," Mirium had told her nervously, refusing to accept Helga and Bob's open resentment of each other, as always. She sipped nervously at a cup of Scandinavian cinnamon coffee that Olga had prepared, watching Helga behind her glasses, guarded by the tiny frames.

Helga sat slouched in an armchair across the room, lighting a fresh cigarette, which inspired a chorus of delicate coughs of protest from Olga.

" Helga," she said, " Please consider contacting him. I know he's stubborn… but a lot of his recent difficulty at work is due to his deep concern for you."

Mirium had nodded slowly. " We're all worried, dear," she'd muttered in her indeliberate condescending tone.

" Well I'm sorry to have disrupted your perfect lives!" Helga had screamed, storming out before they could call her out any further for her reckless lifestyle. Right about that time Helga had realized that she was really kind of pretty after all the awkwardness of her youth had melted away. She dressed in skimpy clothes and wore dark eye liner, plucked her thick eyebrows until they had a womanly shape, and picked only the highest heeled platform shoes to stomp around the city in.

She dashed out into the street that day, vowing never to speak to them again. Tears stung her eyes as her red patent-leather platforms hit the streets of Brooklyn with rhythmic jabs to the cracked concrete. 

Olga would be the only one to bother trying to contact her after that. Her parents had given up easily. Helga tried not to shed tears just thinking it.

They arrived at Phoebe's house in the old neighborhood as the street lamps were beginning to light the street. Their posts had been decorated with fake Christmas greens, big red bows tied the garlands at the top.

" Here we are," Phoebe said, parallel parking in front of her childhood home. Helga tried to climb out of the car and follow Phoebe to the front door, but she couldn't move. She was paralyzed with … fear? Something heart stopping had glued her to her seat in the car.

" Helga!" Phoebe shouted, not letting go of her new impatience at this sensitive moment. Helga turned to look at her, and her eyes were cast down the street. That street. His street. He only lived five houses down from Phoebe. Helga saw the sign for the Sunset Arms Inn swaying in the Christmastime breeze as a few wayward raindrops turned to snow in the freezing downtown air.

Arnold. She stilled loved him. She'd never stopped.

TO BE CONTINED …

In part Three: Brooklyn


	3. The Sunset Arms

****

Christmas in Brooklyn: Part Three

A/N: Sorry for the hiatus, for anyone who was keeping up with this story. I got into FF9 fanfiction after I got the game for Christmas, plus I was away from my computer during the holidays. But here I am again! :)

Part Three: The Sunset Arms

" I can tell by your eyes that you've probably been crying

Forever

And the stars in the sky don't mean nothin' to you –

They're a mirror

I don't want to talk about it,

How you broke my heart …"

~Indigo Girls

Helga woke up late that Sunday, and at first she didn't remember where she was. The wallpaper was covered with tiny pink flowers, the sheets were clean, lacy and humble. She remembered slowly as she woke that she was staying with Phoebe's parents, that Christmas was only days away, and that she was currently a drifter with no job, no house, and no forwarding address for her estranged husband to send the divorce papers to.

She pulled herself out of bed and yawned into the mirror. Already the fine lines around her eyes were softening, and a red blush was returning to her cheeks. I look like a human being again, she observed, instead of a workaholic robot. But how long would this charming appearance last? Soon she would be re-applying for work, house-hunting, and resurrecting her old habits, if she hoped to survive. Olga was the only person she could envision loaning her money, but she could never accept charity from " the blessed daughter". She would sooner starve than admit defeat to Olga, only to have it reported to Miriam and Big Bob. She imagined her family chuckling about it around the dinner table: that washout Helga, she was doing okay for awhile, but we knew it wouldn't last!

Helga wouldn't give them the satisfaction. She'd rather move to Arkansas and flip burgers at Popeye's then borrow money from her sister.

And she certainly couldn't ask Phoebe's family for anything more. They were already providing her with a place to rest her head, authentic home-cooked meals (something Helga hadn't enjoyed since high school, save a few visits to Dirk's parents house during their courtship), and general hospitality all around. Fresh towels had been laid on a chair near her bed, and she happily collected them and headed for the shower, blasting the warm water past light rays that streamed in through the small window in the bathroom. It was a sunny and yet freezing day in Brooklyn, and Helga leaned back against the shower's wall and enjoyed the feeling of the hot water. She wondered what she would do today: watch TV with Phoebe's genial dad, or help her frantic mother cook more food for the upcoming holiday celebrations?

Maybe I'll walk up to the old elementary school, Helga thought. She sighed with a mix of remorse and bitterness. Phoebe had said that the kids hadn't excluded her more than anyone else, it was she who choose to be excluded. That doesn't make any sense, Helga thought, scrubbing her hair with strawberry shampoo, why would I seek out their resentment? 

She was no psychologist, but she was sure it didn't happen that way. The kids in this neighborhood had always rejected her, maybe because she wasn't the picture of feminism, or because she wasn't the smartest or most patient customer back then. Either way, they could have shown her a little more compassion, and Helga decided she'd still love to beat the snot out of them, even now. 

She thought about Arnold as she rinsed the suds from her hair. Back then she'd been so sure that they'd eventually be together; and then high school hit and her hopes were crushed. The kind of girls he'd dated—Helga scoffed to herself. She couldn't believe he'd been married. Whichever little British snot he'd walked down the aisle with was surely a total sap, like Lila, or Ansley Peterson in high school. Ansley, that dreaded violinist with the curly hair and perfect skin. The way she held her chin up, the nerve of her excellent posture! Helga had kicked her whenever she got the chance, earning the hatred of Ansley, the administration at the school, and Arnold.

She climbed out of the shower and got dressed, dried her hair. She pulled a warm sweater over her shirt, and grabbed her jacket, gloves and fuzzy ski cap. It was made of real cashmere—Helga had gotten it at a trendy store in Manhattan during a business trip last year. The glamorous part of life is over, she thought, almost sad to see it go, almost relieved.

" Ah, there you are!" Phoebe's mom greeted Helga without looking at her as she bounded down the stairs. She was struggling with a casserole, one hand covered with a potholder and the other clutching a short glass of amber-colored liquid.

" Sorry I got up so late," Helga said, grabbing a banana for breakfast. She regarded the piece of fruit for a moment and then thought twice: she'd lost so much weight during her stay in the hospital, why not shun the diet and enjoy the privilege of gaining a few pounds? Helga smiled and helped herself to two cinnamon buns, a pecan roll, and a piece of coffee cake.

" This smorgasbord is amazing!" she proclaimed when she was done, gulping down orange juice to finish her feast. " You are some cook, Meiko!" 

" Ah, thanks!" Meiko said quickly, yanking a frozen turkey out of the oven to pump brown liquid on it again. " Helga – I don't suppose you could give me a hand?" she pleaded.

Helga tried to resist, but her grown-up manners got the best of her, and she shed her coat, gloves and hat to spend most of the day slaving alongside Meiko in the hot kitchen. I owe her this much at least, she kept telling herself, sneaking glances at the clock every now and then. She had something of a plan for today, and she didn't want to miss out on all of the daylight. 

Meiko finally released her around five o'clock, when the sun was going down behind the skyline near the end of the street. Helga quickly dressed again in her winter gear, and declined an invitation from Phoebe's father to watch a basketball game as she rushed out the door.

I just want to get a quick look at the old school, she thought, her breath showing as it left her mouth in the freezing air. There was a thick snow today, and there were barely any cars on the street. Helga plodded ahead through the snow, past house after house, heading for PS-118.

But before she could get there, something stopped her. It was the Sunset Arms Inn, its rickety old sign blowing in the icy wind, tacky Christmas tinsel clinging to the railings on its stoop. Helga froze, staring straight ahead, but watching Arnold's grandparent's old Inn out of the corner of her eye. Warm light from the lobby spilled out onto the darkening street. He can't still be there, she told herself, surely they sold the place to someone else after his grandparents died.

Helga turned and walked closer, cautiously, to the inn. She peaked inside and saw that the common room looked exactly the way she remembered it -–the old record player, the ratty lounge chair – for a moment she wondered if she was dreaming.

Suddenly someone opened the front door of the building, and Helga jumped back with a small gasp. A little boy shut the door behind him, and trotted down the staircase. Helga watched him, not moving, completely silent. He looked so damn familiar – he looked like … Arnold. 

The little boy was carrying a sled, and he had an over-sized, old fashioned cap pulled over his forehead. He caught sight of Helga as he was walking down the street, and stared back at her.

" Hey, you," he said, his voice girlish and small, not at all like Arnold's prematurely deep Jazz-musician voice. " What're you doin'?"

" N-nothing," Helga stuttered, crossing her arms defensively over her chest, " What are you doing?" she demanded of the boy.

" Oh," he mused, kicking at snow, " Just getting ready to do some sledding before dinner. I have to be quick, I only have ten minutes." He grinned at her, and with that he was off, dragging his sled behind him, in search of good bunny slopes to slide down. Helga stood frozen near the stoop, watching him go. Whomever he was, he was wearing a cap that looked a lot like the goofy blue one Arnold had worn when they were kids.

Gathering her courage and fearing the worst, Helga slowly climbed the stairs toward the door of the Sunset Arms Inn. So much for visiting PS-118, she thought to herself. She had a feeling she'd known she'd end up here in the back of her mind—a feeling that this was why she was so anxious to get out of Meiko's kitchen earlier. She couldn't have expected herself to just walk past Arnold's old home without a second glance.

Helga reached for the door knob, her hand shaking inside her pink, cotton glove. She turned the knob and carefully pushed the door open, not knowing what to except. The same warm light she'd seen through the window cast its glow on her as soon as she had the door open. A medium sized, slightly sparse but spirited Christmas tree was shining brightly in the lobby, decorated with white lights and paper snowflakes. Soft Christmas tunes were playing on the little record player in the next room. She could smell soup on the stove, hear the sounds of friendly conversation emanating from the kitchen in the back. Strangely, she felt like she was home, at last. 

Helga took a few more moments to take in the scene, still shaking despite the comforting atmosphere. She walked to a small podium that was set up near the door. There was a large book of guest names and room numbers on the podium. Helga crept carefully over to have a peek. 

" Can I help you, Miss?" came a sudden voice from one side of the room, and Helga looked up with a gulp. The man who watched her quizzically from the doorway of the kitchen was definitely not Arnold—no, this man was tall, with a large nose, and an out of place country accent.

" Stinky??" Helga exclaimed in disbelief.

" Well, I'll be," the goofy Southerner said with a smile, " If it ain't Helga G. Patacki! Sixth grade terror and high school hellcat!"

" Eh, in the flesh," Helga muttered, doing something of a little curtsey. 

" What in tarnation are ya' doin here, Helga? We heard from Phoebe that you were a big shot lawyer or somethin'," Stinky said, leaning casually on the podium and taking Helga in. She watched his beady eyes creep from her ankles to her chest with interest. Helga had briefly dated Stinky in some lame attempt to make Arnold jealous, and despite her cruel dismissal of his affections when her plan went awry, he'd always had something of a crush on her. Suddenly she felt a bit cornered.

" Uh, marketing executive, actually," Helga proudly corrected him, not ready to admit to Stinky that her career had gone down the toilet before she'd reached thirty. There was no damage in leading Stinky to believe that she at least still held a job.

" Ya' don't say," he mused with a grin, scratching his head. " Well what brings you to the Sunset Arms?" he asked, hopeful, " Ya lookin' for a place to stay?"

" Not exactly," Helga dashed his hopes quickly, " I'm looking for …" she stopped herself, still reluctant to admit to anyone that Arnold was a thought that played occasionally, if not constantly, on her mind.

She heard footsteps on the stairs behind her, and turned around to break away from Stinky's libidinous gaze. A man in jeans and socked feet was padding down the stairs, a newspaper in his hand.

" Hey Stinky," Helga froze when she heard him speak. The Jazz Musician, sexy, deep voice … " Have you seen Miles? I told him it was almost dinner –" the man froze when he saw Helga watching him. He stood, halfway down the staircase, his eyes widening as he took in the intruder in the lobby.

" Arnold," Helga's voice cracked a bit as she spoke his, name, and she cleared her throat to cover her nervousness. " You … you still hanging around this scummy place? Heh …" she scratched her hair, pulled off her other glove, chewed her lip and avoided his stare. He was gorgeous-- not as tall as she would have imagined, but more evenly filled out now that he had grown into a man. He stood around 5"4, stocky, with longish blond hair streaked by sun. He appeared to have given up on shaving for a few days, boyish blond hair lightly covering his chin, upper lip and the bottom half of his cheeks. His eyes were as blue and clear as she remembered. Bluer, even. Clearer. His skin looked rougher, his hands stronger, but all in all, he was the boy she loved. Judging by his looks, anyway. Helga was almost afraid to hear him speak. She wanted to remember him like this, beautiful, silent, and apparently in awe of her as she stood like a phantom in the lobby of his childhood home. 

" Its me—" she started to say when he was speechless for a moment too long, but he stopped her.

" I know its you, Helga," he answered quickly, running his tongue over his teeth thoughtfully. " Hello." He watched her, stoic, his poker face revealing nothing about what he might be feeling.

" So," she said, exhaling and, embarrassed, turning back to the scorned Stinky, who would have had to be even dumber than she remembered to not feel the tension between she and Arnold. " So you own this place now, eh?" she asked, venturing a glance at Arnold's shoes.

" Actually, I do," Stinky drawled. " My parents bought the place when Phil passed, and they left it to me when they moved back to Kansas," he explained.

" Yeah," Arnold piped up, the mere sound of that scratchy, deep inflection of his sending Helga into a private tizzy. " I just live here now," he offered, completing his journey down the stairs. " My son and I live here," he added, walking to her, coming to a stop only a foot or so from her. We're exactly the same height, Helga realized happily, staring him directly in the eyes. God, she thought, all of her insides doing gymnastics routines, what is he thinking? Why is he looking at me like that?

" Ah, your um, son, huh?" Helga couldn't believe how wishy-washy she was acting. This is only football head! she told herself. Just a lame-o who got a bad lot in life and ended up back here in this deteriorating neighborhood. So he was a good-looking lame-o, so what?

" My son," Arnold confirmed with a nod, " You might have seen him outside. We can hardly keep him in for a minute now that the snow's hardened," he raised an eyebrow at her, "Good sledding weather."

" Right," Helga said quietly. She wanted to jump into his arms. Arnold, there before her, in the flesh. She knew later, in bed at Phoebe's parents house, it would hit her, and she would cry or laugh out loud or somehow react appropriately. But for now all she could do was stare at him, a dull longing for him slowly awakening in her, becoming more intense with each second.

" So Helga," Stinky said, walking over and breaking the connection between them with his fatuous presence. " Ya never did tell us why you're here?"

" Oh, I, I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head clear, " I'm staying with Phoebe for the holidays," she told them, her eyes shooting up to Arnold's: "I'm in the middle of a divorce," she spat out quickly.

His eyebrows raised in concern, " I'm sorry," he said, " That must be difficult."

" Well, I don't know," Helga said, rolling her eyes, " The guy is a total twit, and truthfully I never even knew his middle name." She forced a laugh, and Arnold frowned.

" So why'd you marry him?" he asked, matter-of-factly.

" It was a business merger, really," Helga shot back, her features hardening back into their defensive shell. 

" Oh, yeah," Arnold said slowly, " You're a big shot now, right? Curly found an article about you in _Time_ – he cut it out and showed all of us."

" Curly?" Helga said with a laugh, "That nitwit is still around?"

" Sure am," came another voice from the kitchen, and Helga turned to see Curly standing in the doorway with a grin on his face. She was surprised with his looks – he was barely the scrawny little kid she recalled. He was still thin, but very tall; still had his slick, black hair, but now no glasses. He surprised Helga by walking over to her and wrapping her in a thin-armed hug.

" Curly," she choked happily squeezing his shoulders, " Don't tell me you live here, too!"

"No," he said, stepping back with a grin, " I just come over on Sundays to play poker and give Miles a hard time. What happened to your arm?" Curly asked, carefully tapping her cast. 

" Oh, it's a long story," Helga muttered, grateful that someone was happy to see her in a merely friendly way. 

" Why don't you have dinner with us, Helga?" Arnold offered, folding his newspaper under his arm, " You'll have plenty of time to tell us your long story."

" Who says I want to have dinner with you bums?" Helga answered, half-kidding. " Actually, I have to get back and help Phoebe's mom with some things …" She really wanted nothing more than to stay at the Sunset Arms and slurp down canned soup with Arnold and her old friends, but she was getting so nervous just standing here, and she wasn't about to tell them about her accident, and the loss of her job. It was bad enough that she'd blurted out the news about Dirk – now Arnold knew she was used goods. Not that he wasn't. Not that she planned on actually getting together with Arnold! She couldn't even imagine anything more ludicrous. Arnold is only the stuff of fantasies, she reminded herself, it would never work out between the two of us, we're too different.

" Suit yourself," Arnold said, still watching her eyes like they were in the middle of a staring contest. " I'm going to go find Miles," he said, finally breaking his intent stare and heading for the door.

" I'm off, then," Helga said quickly, longing for a moment alone with Arnold, hoping to catch him on the way out, " Curly, I'll come by and see you tomorrow," she promised, squeezing his hand. She was so relieved by Curly's presence – he had always seemed to share her weirdness, her distaste for people, and had been one of the few boys who were brave enough to hang around her in high school. 

" Tomorrow's Christmas Eve, babe," he reminded her, "I'm heading up to my aunt's house on Long Island," he told her, " But I'll stop by Phoebe's place before I leave, and we can catch up."

Helga smiled warmly at him, surprised herself by encircling him in another hug, and gave Stinky a quick nod before she bolted out the door to catch up with someone herself – Arnold.

__________________

Helga stepped out of the Sunset Arms and searched the street in front of her for Arnold, but he was no where to be seen. She smelled cigarette smoke, and turned to see him leaning against the wall near the door behind her, smoking and watching her quietly.

" Hey, Helga," he greeted her again, calmly. He had only a thin jacket on, and Helga wondered if he was cold, but then, she couldn't imagine Arnold being cold. He seemed to emanate warmth, like a human radiator.

" Hey," Helga answered, walking over cautiously and brushing away the snow on the brick wall of the stoop so that she could sit down. She wondered how many times she'd sat here as a child, sweating in her little pink dress before or after a kick ball game, watching Arnold eat an orange Popsicle, and daydreaming about him. Now she watched him smoke silently, thinking of how she'd once dreamt of tasting second-hand orange Popsicle juice on his lips. Now she longed to take a drag of his cigarette in the same manner: half to taste his lips, half to quench her repressed addition to nicotine. 

He offered her the cigarette without a word, and she took it, holding it between her own lips and inhaling, not able to taste much of Arnold, but certainly satisfied in one sense.

" I never would have pegged you as a smoker," she told him, rubbing it in as she handed the cigarette back.

" Things change," Arnold muttered, blowing three perfect smoke rings.

" I guess so," Helga relented, " But I don't think I've changed much."

Arnold scratched his chin thoughtfully, " Well," he said, " You look different, at least."

" Yeah," Helga mumbled, " I always dreamt of looking like Olga – secretly, of course. But now … what good has it done me, you know?" She realized she was sounding a trite pathetic – suddenly Arnold was bringing out the human in her, where he used to bring out the monster. Things change, indeed.

Arnold shrugged and dropped his cigarette onto the stoop, crushing it under his boot, " You looked like Olga in high school," he reminded her, 

" I mean, you look different now. More mature."

" Well, obviously," Helga said, insulted, thinking maybe he was just reminding her that she looked older.

" You wore too much makeup in high school," he said.

" So what?" she said, frowning, " You wore a kilt in elementary school. But who's keeping score?" She rolled her eyes at him.

He smiled, " I meant it as a compliment," he said, " I meant to say that you look better without the makeup."

" Yeah, well," she muttered, kicking snow.

" We were all really glad for your success, Helga," he said, suddenly sincere, squinting into the distance, " Especially me. I was worried about you in high school – you were always acting out."

" Acting out!" Helga exclaimed, resentment fluttering up in her chest, " Don't give me that bull, you sound like my freaking psychologist!" she accused. Arnold narrowed his eyes at her.

" You're going to try to tell me that who you were in high school was a legitimate representation of your true character?" he challenged.

" I was going through some tough times with my family, okay?" she almost shouted, " You wouldn't understand, Mr. Perfect."

" Oh, I wouldn't understand?" he asked with gritted teeth, " Sure, Helga, I wouldn't understand anything about family problems. Not when every family member I've ever loved has died. Including my wife. No, you're right. You've had it _much_ worse than I have!" 

" But you've never failed to try and hold it over everyone's head!" Helga said, angry and sad at the same time. She didn't want to be getting into this argument again, but she couldn't help hating Arnold when he attempted to feel sorry for her. She never asked for his stupid, self-righteous pity! " You always rubbed in my face – that despite all odds, you'd handled everything perfectly and become the picture of compassion and accomplishment!"

" Accomplishment?" Arnold scoffed and laughed darkly, " Obviously you haven't heard the news. I work at a freaking Laundromat, Helga. I can barely afford to keep my son alive off of Chef Boyardee and Pop Tarts, and he's had the same pair of shoes since he was four. I think you over-estimate me. But unlike you, I'm willing to admit that my life hasn't turned out the way I planned, that I failed somewhere along the way to becoming what I wanted to be. Because I'm _not_ self-righteous, and I'm _not_ proud. I'm telling you right now, Helga, you can forget who I was when we were kids, because, right now? I'm barely alive." Arnold's voice cracked somewhere in the midst of his monologue, and he turned away from her to hide a few renegade tears.

Helga was silenced. She wanted so badly to reach out to him, to hold him and tell him it was okay, that she was sorry. That it was only her jealously of him, her want for him, that kept her at his throat. But she could only stutter and fiddle her thumbs, shocked.

" B-but," she began, " I thought you had scholarships? Research grants?"

" I did," he said. His voice was even again, but he still didn't turn to face her. " But when Kathryn – my wife – died during one of our expeditions, the foundation blamed me. They cut me off. I haven't worked in anthropology since."

" What happened?" Helga whispered without meaning to.

Arnold was quiet for a moment, he seemed to be trying to decide whether to answer her.

" We were in South America," he said quietly, " She was on a bridge over a river, it was built by a small tribe that lived on the other shore, and it wasn't very sturdy. We were … joking about it," his voice quaked a little, and then he continued, " It broke," he said, sighing deep. " I couldn't reach her. She … drowned." They were both silent for a moment after he finished.

" Well," Helga began softly, " It wasn't your fault."

" It doesn't matter," Arnold said, " I get out of bed everyday so that Miles will have a father, so that he won't be an orphan like I was. He's all I'm alive for, everything else is null. Kathryn's death … my work … just thinking about it, its useless. That part of my life is over."

" Arnold," Helga said in a tiny, almost inaudible voice. She reached for him, her arm shaking, and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He shook it off and turned around. Their eyes met for a second, and Helga could still see, somewhere in the deep, blue ocean of grief that undulated in his eyes, the idealistic little boy she'd lost. Then his eyes snapped away from hers, and she heard footsteps in the snow, nearing them.

" Miles!" Arnold called, making his voice angry, " What did I tell you? Ten minutes! Get in here, you're late!" 

" Yes, Dad," Miles squeaked, looking up at Helga briefly before he trotted inside the Inn.

" Give him a break, Arnold," Helga whispered once Miles was inside. Arnold just shook his head.

" Don't look so disappointed, Helga," he said, his tone cold, " You shouldn't have come back if you couldn't handle the truth." With that, he turned and disappeared back into the Inn. 

_________________

Helga couldn't sleep that night. She couldn't get the image of Arnold's face out of her mind: he had looked so dejected, so hopeless. He looked like he had given up, something Helga had thought was impossible for such an optimistic person to do. I guess his wife's death was the final straw, she thought sadly, I don't blame him for feeling empty after so much loss.

But he still has his little boy! Helga thought, angry with him for denying his son the right to grow up with the real Arnold, the Arnold she remembered, who would have made a great father. She sighed – she was certain he was still probably a better father than most, including and especially Big Bob. Arnold always hated Big Bob, she recalled happily. She remembered the night he'd staged a protest when Big Bob had tried to cut down the tree that housed the city's old tree fort. Helga had joined him, claiming that she was simply trying to tick her father off (this was partly true) but mostly because she wanted to get behind any cause Arnold would support – he was so unfalteringly good, so destined for happiness. 

What then, had happened to him? What cruel fate had allowed Arnold, who had lost everyone he had ever felt close to, to lose his wife? 

It was Arnold's confession to her that his life was in shambles that was making Helga the most uneasy. Why couldn't he just be proud like her, and pretend for the sake of impressing her that everything was okay? The fact that he had willingly divulged his dreary situation really said something about how bad things had gotten for him. There was only one other time Helga could think of when Arnold had shared the painful secrets of his life with her. And that had been when they were eighteen, on the senior camping trip …

A stupid excursion that Miriam forced her to attend…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

__

Helga pulled her pack up the hill toward camp, following behind Rhonda and her cronies. They were all whining about not being able to plug in their hair-dryers.

" Nobody better take any pictures!" Rhonda warned, " My hair goes absolutely flat_ in this horrible natural air!"_

" Oh, Rhonda, shut up!" Helga growled, pushing her out of the way. 

" Nobody'd waste film on you, anyway, bubble-head!" The girls in Rhonda's gang tsk-tsk'd as always, shooting back insults as Helga tromped away. She wished Curly or Brainy were around to chuckle at her joke, but Curly's parents couldn't afford to send him on the senior trip, and Brainy had a science convention this weekend.

Helga set up her sleeping bag near Phoebe and Nadine, the two girls who were still marginally nice to her.

" Hi, Helga," Phoebe said, trying to be cheerful. Nadine looked a little frightened. Ever since she'd seen Helga pound the crap out of Harold in eighth grade for saying she had a unibrow, Nadine had seemed quite terrified of her. (And also since that day, Helga had become an expert at eye-brow plucking).

" Hey, Pheebs," Helga greeted her former best-friend, hoping to keep things light. She didn't want to be there, but her mother had forced her to go as a last-ditch effort to encourage her daughter to make more friends. Helga had brought her smokes, a copy of Jack Kerovac's On the Road_, and a small flask full of Big Bob's best whiskey to occupy her during this campfire song fest. _

The night went by without incident, with Helga glaring across the campfire over the top of her novel at the terrible twosome: Arnold and Ansley. The "Double A" sat roasting marshmallows and smooching like a couple of batteries from hell. Arnold was a white-bread goody-goody clod that Helga had crushed on when she was younger, and Ansley was the teacher's pet, who was planning on serenading the class with her 'expert' violin playing skills. Helga felt like barfing at the very suggestion, and when everyone (including Phoebe, the traitor), applauded Ansley as she stepped up and placed her delicate, pimple-less chin on her violin, Helga grabbed her book and her whiskey and took off to find a place to be alone: someplace out of earshot of Ansley's little concert. 

She found a brook leading away from camp, and figured it would be pretty easy to find her way back if she just followed the brook in the direction she'd come. So, she walked along until she could no longer hear the sound of music from the campsite, or the happy chattering of her classmates. She found a felled tree that made a nice spot to sit, and she plopped down, attempting to read, but mostly just slugging whiskey and wishing Ansley would get eaten by a bear.

Suddenly she heard footsteps coming toward her and her breath caught: I take it back! She thought quickly, please, no bears!

But instead of a ferocious grizzly, it was Arnold who emerged from the forest, and approached her in the clearing near the brook.

" Hmph," Helga groaned, " What the hell do you want, Football head?"

" Quit calling me that," he said, frowning, " Grow up."  
" Look!" Helga shouted, throwing down her book, " I didn't come out here because I felt like being harassed by a holier-than-thou jerk! I came out here to be alone. So why don't you go worship your little girlfriend some more, and just leave me out of it."

" Helga," he said, giving her one of his deep in thought-dilemma sighs, " I don't worship her. And I came out here because I didn't want you drinking yourself into a stupor and getting lost."

" What do you care, you stick-in-the-mud?" she asked, taking a big swig from her flask to spite him.

" I … don't know," he said, " Its just the way I was raised. Now get rid of that stuff, willya? Mr. Dean will kill you if he catches you with that."

" Dean already hates me," Helga reminded him with a grin, " He caught me smoking once and I thanked him for dragging me to the principal's office by putting out my cigarette in his coffee." She snickered. " That's what I call high school memories."

" Look," he said, " I know your favorite activity is making everybody worry about you, but I don't want to have it on my conscience that I saw you sneak off with the infamous flask when they find you eaten by wolves."

" Why don't you just keep your damn eyes off me, kid," Helga suggested with a scoff, secretly flattered that he had been paying attention to her. " And quit pestering me about drinking! Everybody does it. Except maybe you and Princess Ansley."

Arnold sighed, " You're right, Ansley doesn't drink," he said, " But Gerald and I have a beer sometimes at parties. Its not just drinking in your case, Helga, I've seen you at parties. Everybody drinks, sure, but everybody doesn't get so smashed that they try to pick fights with Eugene's car."

Helga laughed out loud, " Unfortunately I can only remember that through stories," she said, " I have no recollection of actually doing it."

" Doesn't that scare you, Helga?" Arnold asked, walking over and sitting next to her on the log. " Not being able to remember pieces of your life?"

" Nothing scares me," she bluffed, taking another swig. " Here," she offered, testing him, " You haven't really had a drink until you've had whiskey. Beer is for sissies."

Arnold took the flask and eyed it. Helga poked his shoulder and told him to live a little, and he took a sip. He gagged a little bit and stuck out his tongue.

" God, its awful," he said, handing it back to her. 

" Taste is not the point," Helga told him, " It does a real number on you, and fast." Arnold shook his head.

" I don't understand you," he said, looking at her with his intense gaze. Helga snapped her eyes away from his: she still had to admit that he was amazingly attractive, especially those innocent blue eyes.

" What's there not to understand?" she asked quietly, looking down at the flask in her hand, " Sometimes you just want to stop thinking about things, so you have a drink. And it feels good, so, you have another … " she trailed off. " But you wouldn't know, would you?" she added quickly, " Your life is perfect."

" Yeah, right," he muttered, " You think I don't get depressed?"

Helga looked at his shoes, and then up at his eyes. She had to jerk her gaze away from him; she hated the searching way he watched her, as if he wanted to know everything she was secretly feeling. 

" I want to get away from myself, sometimes, too," he admitted, making his voice soft, " When I start thinking about my parents … I'll get all hopeful sometimes, thinking that they'll be found alive … I know I'm just fooling myself. Its hopeless and …" he paused, and looked at her, embarrassed. Helga handed him the flask again, and this time he drank more, still making a face, but forcing it down. 

" Trust me," she whispered, " Parents aren't that great. I can't stand mine … and you know why? Because they don't like me. I mean it. They don't even like their own daughter. They put up with me, but only because I'm family. The worst part is that I know they're capable of love – because they love my sister Olga like nobody's business. But me …" Her bottom lip started to tremble, and she bit it, hard, to stop the coward from showing emotion. " I don't know what I did wrong," she managed to get out. She took her flask back from Arnold and drank from it deeply.

" But my parents …" Arnold said quietly, looking at the ground.

" I'm sure they were great," Helga said quickly, and he looked up at her. He reached for the flask, and his warm, slightly dirty hand covered hers as he gripped it. Helga moved her hand away and let him take a drink, her cheeks turning red from his touch. 

" I guess they were great," he said, holding the flask and watching the moon shining from across the forest, low in the night sky. " I don't remember them at all. All I have is the stories my grandfather …" he trailed off, " Well," he said with a scoff, " I guess I don't have those anymore, either." He drank again.

" Hey," Helga said, " Take it easy on that stuff, okay?" she said, reaching for the flask, " Its not good for a first-timer to have too much. You have to get used to it a little at a time."

" What do you care?" Arnold imitated her typical, agitated tone, and pulled back on the flask when she tried to take it from him. 

" I don't_," Helga insisted, her eyes locked on his. He blinked a few times, and narrowed his eyes, studying her._

" What's your problem with Ansley, anyway?" he asked, " Are you just jealous like Rhonda and all those other girls? Because she's pretty?"

Slightly heartbroken, Helga released the flask and jerked back from him.

" Hell no," she said with a scoff, " I just think she's a snot and … over-rated."

Arnold laughed to himself, " Good," he said, " Because you're prettier than her, anyway."

Helga laughed, taken aback. She knew she was pretty, but not prettier than Ansley. " Don't patronize me," she mumbled.

" I'm not," Arnold said, serious. " Don't tell Ansley," he added.

They were quiet for awhile after that. Arnold finished the remains of the whiskey, and Helga pretended to read as her heart beat out of her chest. She couldn't believe he thought she was pretty – sure, construction workers hooted at her and the boy at the pizza place on the corner of 8th gave her free Mountain Dew and big grins with his jagged hockey-player teeth … but somehow she'd always really doubted that someone of Arnold's caliber could see her the way other losers like Brainy did. 

" W-we should go back to camp," Helga suggested, as a cold breeze blew past them.

" I don't want to go back to camp," Arnold muttered. " Its peaceful here."

" But I'm cold," Helga said, hugging herself. Arnold looked at her, and placed the empty flask on the ground.

" Here," he said, scooting close to her and putting an arm around her shoulder. Helga let him pull her to him, frozen, shocked, all of the feelings for Arnold that she had hidden away bubbling to the surface. " Better?" he asked. She barely had the nerve to nod. Something about finally being in Arnold's arms was as terrifying as it was wonderful. She remembered the 5th grade play where they'd played Romeo and Juliet opposite each other: her one, well-earned chance to lock lips with him. It had been okay: certainly not electric, since he had been pretending to play dead at the time, and since the whole thing was somewhat against his will. But now … he had reached for her … on his own accord. Was it only because he was drunk?

" We should go back," Helga said again.

" Why?" he asked, a little offended, " Aren't you comfortable?"

" I'm too comfortable," she said with a little laugh, " I'll fall asleep if I stay like this much longer. Then they'll all think …"

" That we spent the night together on purpose?" Arnold ventured with a grin.

" NO." Helga said, her cheeks blazing red, " That we were eaten by bears."

" They would imagine both scenarios, I'm sure," Arnold said, brushing dirt off his pants, " But which is worse?" he asked her, his eyes twinkling in the light of the moon. 

" Quit it," Helga whispered, her face still close to his. He smiled, touched her cheek, then leaned his forehead against hers, letting his lips touch the bridge of her nose. He kissed her there, and Helga shuddered happily, putting her arms around his waist.

" Arnold," she whimpered, her body begging for his, her arms squeezing him tighter around his middle.

" Careful," he warned, sitting back, " I … I don't feel so good."

" Oh! Sorry—"

" Its—" Arnold started to say something, then his shoulders hunched up and he leaned over to puke behind the log.

" Heh," Helga said, wiping sweat from her forehead, her disappointed heartbeat slowing. " I told you not to drink so much …" 

****

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

****

Helga remembered that night with a mixture of nostalgia and heartbreak. After sobering up, Arnold had ambled back into the arms of Ansley, regardless of Helga's stance as "prettier". She scoffed again at his drunken observation: clearly, the alcohol had a lot to do with their connection that night. Helga had told herself that it was just a fluke, that she needed to get Arnold out of her head once and for all. 

But tonight, nearly eight years later, she still couldn't get her mind off the boy. Finally giving up on any hope of sleep, she climbed out of bed and pulled on jeans, a jacket, and her ski cap. She left her room and crept downstairs, silently slipping out into the cold night. 

Helga walked down the street, not fearing muggers or homeless people, because she had lived here when the streets were clean. And on a night like this, fresh snow covering the streets and buildings, it still looked as clean as it ever was. Moonlight sparkled on the frozen landscape, and the only audible noise was the crunching of snow under Helga's boots as she headed toward the Sunset Arms Inn. 

She made her way back toward the alley, a place where she used to stand sometimes and gaze up in awe at the light from Arnold's bedroom. It used to strike her how it amazing it was just to exist on the same planet with Arnold, that while she was off toiling in her everyday life, he was living and breathing and probably doing something of great importance. He was always saving the world, in those days.

She watched the window for a few moments, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of her coat pocket. I can't start smoking again, she thought, but she lit one anyway. She had lifted the pack from Meiko's secret stash, and she felt bad for stealing, and bad for smoking again at all, but she'd pay Meiko back tomorrow after the craving passed, and this was her last one. Really, she told herself, the last one …

Suddenly a shadow fell across the window, and Helga's breath caught. She dropped the cigarette into the snow and mashed it out so that he wouldn't see the light. But the face she saw in the window was not Arnold's, but Stinky's. He took Arnold's old room, Helga thought, what a jerk. She remembered Arnold bragging about his room in elementary school, and all the neat modifications it had, how he had a great view of the sky. And now that bugger Stinky was living there …

Helga got the creeps as she watched Stinky pear out of his window. She had the weirdest feeling that he was staring right back at her, even though she was sure he couldn't see her in the shadows of the alley. 

Growing uncomfortable, Helga turned and left the alley, heading back through the frozen streets, toward her temporary home.

To Be Continued …

A/N II: I always seem to work on this story right before vacation! I leave for Spring Break on Friday (hopefully, if I can find a freakin' ride …) So I won't be able to put the next chapter up for a week. But don't worry, I'll get to work on it as soon as I get back! ;) ~ Mena (Heidi G. Patacki)


	4. PS-118

****

Christmas in Brooklyn: Part Four

__

" Haunted heart … won't let me be … 

Dreams repeat a sweet but lonesome 

Song to me …"

~ Jo Stafford

Part Four: PS-118

Helga sat patiently in the piano room of Phoebe's house, trying not to twitch too much as the young doctor removed her cast.

" This has healed well," Phoebe said to herself with a nod, pulling the last pieces off.

" God," Helga moaned, looking at her arm, "Its all green or something … it looks slimy!"

" Well!" Phoebe said, frowning at her, " I told you not to shower with the cast on, didn't I?"

As she scolded her, two little Asian boys ran into the room, laughing and playfully fighting over a talking Pikachu doll. Phoebe clapped her hands at them.

" Alright, you two!" she snapped, " Out of here with those antics! Take it outside!"

" But, Phoebe!" one of her little cousins whined, " Its cold out there!" Helga heard the doorbell ring, and Meiko, her black pants covered in flour and a half-wrapped gift dangling from the pinky finger of her left hand, darted out to answer the door and feign excitement at the arrival of more relatives.

" Man," Helga muttered, itching her arm, " How does she do it? Miriam would have collapsed days ago." She felt a pang of regret when she thought of her mother: she remembered the dream she'd had a few days ago, of her parents huddling homeless in a dimly lit alley. It couldn't be, Helga thought, shaking the image from her mind, Olga would never let that happen to them. Still, she wondered what had become of her parents after Big Bob's Beepers went bust.

Phoebe shook her head at her own mother. " I tell her every year that the stress of hosting these holiday parties is bad for her cholesterol levels," she said, reaching over to smack Helga's hand away from her arm, " Don't scratch!" she chided.

" Crimeney!" Helga exclaimed when the doorbell rang again. " How many relatives do you have, Pheebs?"

Phoebe frowned, " I thought everyone was already here," she said, getting up to answer the door before her mother got the chance. " Oh!" she said, a little surprised upon pulling it open, " Curly!"

Helga stood and walked to the lobby to greet Curly, who was exchanging long-time-no-see pleasantries with Phoebe. Curly was wrapped in a stylish trench coat, a scarf with bits of snow stuck to it hanging loosely around his thin neck. He grinned at Helga upon spotting her in the crowd of short, dark-haired people that was now swarming throughout Phoebe's household. 

" C'mon in," Helga said, taking his arm and leading him to the relatively empty piano room. Phoebe followed them in, and they sat on the couch near the window, awkward for a moment at the sudden reunion.

" Isn't this bizarre?" Curly said with a smile, and both girls giggled. It _was_ bizarre, especially for Helga, who hadn't been back to the old neighborhood in ages. To be seated with her childhood best friend and her best friend from adolescence was staggeringly odd.

" How have you been Curly?" Phoebe asked, " Would you like anything to drink? Eat? We certainly have plenty of food!"

" No thanks, dear," Curly politely declined, surprising Helga and Phoebe with his adult manners, when they both remembered him as a hellion in his youth.

" I've just dropped in for a quick chat that I promised Helga yesterday at Sunset Arms," he told her, " You should go by there—I'm sure Stinky and Arnold would love to see you."

" Yeah," Phoebe said with a small, sad smile, " I'd just hate to disappoint them with the way I've turned out – predictable old brainiac Phoebe, the surgeon who lives alone." She sat back and her cheeks reddened a bit; Helga got the feeling she hadn't meant it to come out like that.

" Naw," Curly said with a wave of his hand, " They'd love to see you no matter what – and believe me, you've got the rest of us beat when it comes to careers! The only thing I'd worry about is making them jealous."

Phoebe's smile grew warmer and more genuine, " What on earth has become of you, Curly Gamelthorpe?" she asked, " Some level-headed lass must have gotten her hands on you and molded you into a decent human being!"

Curly laughed, his gray eyes twinkling secretively, " Not really," he said, " I know I was a brat in school, but I guess life just got the better of me. I've lost my edge, I'm afraid." He glanced at Helga.

" That's a shame," she said. He shrugged.

" Normalcy has its benefits," he said, " Don't you agree?"

" Hey," Helga said, " I'm not quite there yet. I hope to be normal like Curly, when I grow up!" she joked, and he swatted at her, chuckling. " What are you up to these days, anyway?" she asked, " How many hearts have you broken? Banks have you robbed?" she giggled.

" I'm no heartbreaker," Curly said with a scoff, " And no career-person, for that matter! I do a little bit of everything. I help my buddy run a car washing business in the summer, but lately I've been driving snow-plows for Jake's Winter Maintenance," he rolled his eyes, " Real glamorous, huh?"

" Glamorous is over-rated," Helga said quickly, not looking at him.

" I guess so," Curly said, watching her as she picked at her arm with disgust, " Mostly I hang around with Arnold and Stinky, play poker, take Miles to baseball games … you know, typical bum activities."

" Miles," Helga muttered, still not meeting his eyes, " Cute kid."

" Oh, yeah," Curly nodded, " Miles is great."

" I haven't seen Arnold's son in awhile," Phoebe mused, " I need to go visit them. They're right down the street … but its hard." With that she excused herself to 'go help her mother'. Helga watched her go, puzzled, then looked to Curly. He shook his head.

" She's afraid she'll see Gerald there," he said, keeping his voice low, 

" They had some kind of affair in college – neither of them really talks about it and I think only Arnold knows what really went on – you know he and Gerald went to school together. Anyway, of course we can't get the story out of him, Mr. 'I Keep My Word 'Til the Grave' …"

Helga snickered.

" But poor Phoebe," Curly said, leaning back onto the sofa's cushions, " It really crushed her when they broke it off … She dates these jerks now, I don't know why."

" To punish herself," Helga answered curtly. Curly frowned.

" Why would she do that?" he asked. Helga sighed deeply.

" Because she made all the wrong decisions," she said, speaking of course of her experience, as she really didn't know that much about Phoebe's. " Because she … let him get away." 

Curly was quiet for a minute, " Maybe," he finally said, " I don't know anything about it. Love." Helga looked at him.

" Why not?" she asked, " You're a good looking guy. And not quite a monster anymore." Curly snorted with brief laughter.

" I don't know," he said, looking at his shoes. " I hate to say that I'm picky. I don't deserve to be selective. But … I guess I just haven't found the right girl. You know?" Helga didn't respond. She had known – or, at least, _thought_ she had known who the 'right one' for her was since pre-school …

" I think people who know are lucky," Curly told her, " I always thought Arnold was lucky, to have found Kathryn. But …" 

" She died," Helga finished, trying to sound heartless. 

"Yep," Curly said softly, watching Helga for some kind of sign.

" Must have been hard for him," Helga said, looking at the floor. 

" You have no idea," Curly said, exhaling heavily to emphasize his words, 

" He was like a zombie for months … only thinking of how it was effecting his kid pulled him out of it. And still …"

" He's different," Helga finished, and Curly nodded. 

" Not as different as you might think," he said, " I mean, he seems kind of cold sometimes … mostly just because he used to be so …"

" Warm?" Helga suggested, her cheeks blushing a careful pink.

" Uh-huh," he said, " But I think he'll be okay. Arnold's young … he'll move on, eventually. If only … if only it wasn't for his parents … then his grandparents …" Curly trailed off and looked behind him, out the window, at the falling snow. 

" Looks like they'll be more inches tonight," he remarked on the weather, clearing his throat. Helga turned and watched the flakes fall. The two simultaneously caught sight of their reflection in the frosty glass, and their eyes met. They sat silently, both feeling something in the moment but not knowing what to say about it, really. The feeling was one of loss of innocence, of intense memories oozing from every crack in the street, every brick in every building. Every school dance played through Helga's mind in slow motion, girls twirling to forgotten tunes, their braids swinging carelessly through the air. When Helga looked at Curly's image in the glass, she could hear the laughter of their childhood, feel the pain of their adolescence. She looked away and tried to shake herself out of her trance.

It was sad that they'd all drifted apart, but what elementary school friends stay close for any amount of time? Helga was surprised she'd even kept in contact with them throughout high school. 

"What was she like?" Helga asked, picking at loose pieces of thread on the couch. 

"Who?" Curly asked.

" Arnold's wife," Helga said, " The fabulous Kathryn."

Curly shrugged, "He lived in London while they were married, so I never met her," he said, "I've seen a few pictures – Arnold keeps some in his room at the Inn."

Helga felt a pang of jealously. Give me a break girl, she thought, jealous of the guy's dead wife? That's pretty low, even for you.

" She had red hair," Curly said, " And … I mean, she was pretty, but nothing spectacular. You got the feeling it was more her personality that was attractive – like you might look at her and not think much of her face, but once you knew her you swore she was the most beautiful woman in the world?"

Helga frowned, " Are you sure you haven't met her?" she asked with a laugh. Curly bit his lip.

" Sorry," he said quietly, " I guess I'm hypothesizing." Helga sighed.

" Yeah," she said, " I'm sure she was charming as hell. Arnold always went for those … sophisticated types. Ballet dancers, and the like." 

Curly laughed, " Well," he said, " She was an archeologist, like his mother. I have a feeling he was … sort of looking for a motherly figure to replace that hole in his life. Which is kind of creepy if you ask me, but nobody ever asked me. Gerald always told me that it was more a marriage of comfortable love than passion."

" Hmm," Helga mused, secretly relieved. Comfortable love … her own marriage was something along those lines. Only it had been more of a comfortable _bank account_ than a comfortable _love_. She and Dirk went together because they both made a lot of money: neither had to fear that the other was using them for their money.

" Its weird," Curly said, " I always thought Arnold might end up with … well, you."

" What??" Helga exclaimed, pretending to be shocked by the mere suggestion. " Why in damnation did you think that?" she asked. Curly laughed.

" I don't know," he said, " Opposites attract? I think the two of you had a certain love-hate chemistry. Maybe just when we were younger. Like I said, what do I know about it? I guess I'm no match-maker."

" Well, um, is there like, any other reason you might think that?" Helga asked eagerly. " Just because, well, you know, its such a bizarre suggestion …"

A small, earnest smile crept over Curly's lips. 

" What?" Helga asked, leaning back, " What's that look??" she demanded.

" Nothing," Curly said, " But there WAS one other reason I thought maybe … you and Arnold … you know."

Helga raised an eyebrow. "And …?"

" Just his whole … fascination … with you in high school," he said, " With your bad-ass attitude and total disregard for the rules. He was always fussing over you … I think he meant to sound annoyed, but to me he just seemed intrigued. Like I said, opposites attract and all. Maybe he thought you could bring out the wild streak in him," Curly suggested, poking Helga in the side playfully.

" Wild streak – ha!" Helga said, her leg bouncing up and down and revealing her secret excitement at such a theory. " As if that simpleton HAS a wild streak!"

" I don't know," Curly said, standing, " I think everyone has a doppelganger hidden inside them. Something that makes them do things people wouldn't expect – like me!" he said, grinning, " No one would have expected me to turn out as anything but a maniacal postal worker!"

Helga smiled and stood to hug him with one arm before he left for his family's holiday party. 

" I'm not trying to be cold here," Helga explained, " But trust me, you do not want this other arm anywhere near you, not before I take a shower!" 

She and Curly exchanged good-byes, and Helga stood at the door, watching him walk to his car and struggle to get it started once he was inside. Finally the old car revved up, and Curly waved to her as he pulled away under the darkening sky. It was only mid-afternoon, but December clouds had over-taken the sky and were producing lazy snowflakes that threatened to make the difficult to navigate winter landscape even more treacherous. Helga watched Curly's car until it disappeared, wondering if she would ever see her childhood friend again.

Something about this 'back home' situation seemed fragile—as if it were coming together carefully, piece by piece, but the slightest misstep might unravel everything, and send Helga reeling backward with the force of the strong wind she had dreamt of before she'd come here …

She had a bad feeling in her gut, and it wasn't just from eating too much of Meiko's chili-conquesa dip. Something in the old neighborhood was greatly amiss, she felt. But there was also the underlying need to have closure: to make sure people knew how she felt about them, even if she could only bear to give them the slightest hints. And for that she ignored her instincts, and pressed on in the world of the past.

_________________

Anxious to get away from Phoebe's crowded house, Helga dressed in her snowy-weather things and decided to finally make her pilgrimage to PS-118. It was the last place she remembered being truly happy – on the stage when she'd managed to steal a kiss from Arnold during Romeo and Juliet, on the playground where she'd commanded the other fourth graders with the fear of Old Betsy and the Five Avengers. Helga chuckled to herself as she walked up the street, past the Sunset Arms. She paid the Inn a glance but stopped herself from making a detour, heading forward toward the school.

There was another cumbersome building to pass, one on the corner across from PS-118's playground. It was Helga's old house, the three-story brownstone where she'd grown up. She tried to make her way past her childhood home without looking, without remembering the painful days she'd spent there, trying to convince herself that her parents didn't hate her, and that she wasn't worthless because of it. But tears crept into her eyes anyway, and promptly hardened in the freezing Northern air. Helga shivered, and turned slightly to look at her former home.

The brownstone hadn't been sold to anyone else, or at least it didn't appear so. The windows were dark, and there were no Christmas decorations on the stoop or windowsills. One of the windows on the first floor was broken, and Helga shuddered as the darkness within the house stared out at her from the hole in the smashed window. It seemed to hypnotize her, to hold her in her place.

Helga started to shake, maybe from the cold, maybe from the ominous structure she stood before. Either way, she was afraid she'd be frozen there in its path, unable to break away from her guilt, her regrets that seemed to lie in this old house.

" Helga!" she heard someone calling her name through her haze of memories, and turned to look across the street, at PS-118. Her eyes found Arnold, standing at the edge of the small, rusty playground they'd spent their recess hour on as kids. There were a few kids running around it now, one of them being Miles. Helga exhaled, tore her eyes away from her childhood home, and walked on toward Arnold.

" Hey," he said as she approached, " Taking a tour of the old neighborhood?"

" I … guess so," Helga said, still a bit shaken. " Is that coffee?" she asked of the styrofoam cup Arnold held. He nodded.

" You want some?" he asked, " Its nothing fancy. Just black coffee." Helga nodded and snatched the cup, drinking from it and leaving a mauve lipstick stain on the edge. 

" Another surprise," she said, feeling a sort of psychosomatic relief wash through her as Arnold's coffee warmed her insides. " I never would have suspected you'd be taking your coffee black."

He shrugged, " Its' nothing to do with my attitude," he assured, " Its just what I've gotten used to, what with living in jungles and deserts for years. There weren't any sweeteners or cream packages there." Helga chuckled, and realized suddenly why she'd been so mean to him when they were kids. Meanness made her nervousness disappear. Now all she had was the anxiety of standing with him at the edge of the playground, the smell of his soap and the taste of his coffee dancing around her and titillating her senses.

" I see you've cut your hair since yesterday," she remarked, giving him a sideways look, which he met with his forever curious blue eyes. They looked softer outside in the meek light of the sky through the clouds. 

" Yeah," he said, " I thought I ought to look nice for Stinky's little Christmas Eve get together tonight." He had shaved, too, Helga noticed. He looked younger and more handsome, and she found herself inadvertently leaning toward him as they stood together and watched the new generation of neighborhood children play.

They were both quiet for a moment, Arnold's eyes following Miles across the snow-filled school yard, and Helga's watching the dark windows of PS-118 for ghosts. The two of us stewing here with our private obsessions, she thought darkly, noticing that none of the other children had parents that followed them on their play dates. She imagined that Arnold must be an extremely over-protective parent, mostly for his own sake. Miles seemed to be Arnold's last chance at a family.

" So why did you come back here, Helga?" Arnold finally asked her, his eyes narrowing a bit as he regarded her. Helga shoved her hands in her pockets. She wasn't really sure why she was here, but she was beginning to see that it had a lot to do with him.

" I guess Phoebe talked me into it," she answered without missing a beat. She paused for a moment and then ventured more information: " I didn't have much of a reason not to come. I lost my job." The words fell quickly from her mouth, and she was surprised to find that with their exit came a sense of relief, rather than embarrassment.

" I'm sorry," Arnold said, watching her. Helga wondered selfishly if she had his full attention: she was sure he had at least one corner of his eye on Miles.

" No," Helga said slowly, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully at the snow beneath her feet, " It was … a good thing. I was turning into my father."

" Your father," Arnold said, looking off into the distance with a scoff, 

" I heard he lost his business. Whatever happened to him?"

" I haven't the vaguest idea," Helga said, her voice getting hollow. And why shouldn't it? It was a subject that she kept some distance from, her family. Only because of the distance they'd always kept from her, back when she was willing to give them a chance.

" I think we've both had some rotten luck," Arnold said with a sigh, clamping his hand on Helga's shoulder. She quaked under his touch: he wasn't wearing gloves, his bare hands were pink from the cold. She wanted to take them in her own hands and warm them, but she stood still. She cocked her head a bit to have a sideways look at her childhood 'love'. Not letting herself meet his gaze, she watched his lips, which matched the red of his cheeks, reacting to the chill in the air. Helga let her mind wander: she allowed herself to imagine what Arnold's lips might taste like now. Not like the orange popsicles of their youth, surely. There would be traces of cigarette smoke; she imagined he'd had a smoke this morning, early, after the sun had just come up behind the clouds. Then there would be the taste of coffee: sharp and dull, probably the only breakfast he'd had. Somewhere in the mix there would the taste of pure Arnold, a flavor she'd sampled only once. She could barely remember, now. 

" Listen," he said, " I'm sorry if I was a little harsh yesterday. I was thinking about it last night … it wasn't right of me to lay all that stuff on you. We're old friends."

" Its okay," Helga shrugged him off quickly, not wanting any mushy take-backs. " We were never really friends, anyway."

" Yeah we were," Arnold insisted, sounding almost hurt.

" Come on," Helga said, looking at him straight on, which was kind of intimidating, somehow. " Its not like we … called each other up and got together to play spades." She almost reverted to her old ways, stopping herself when she was tempted to lean over and emphasize her sarcastic crack by spitting onto the sidewalk.

" Maybe not friends like that," Arnold said, " But we were … I felt like we were close. You know? I mean, we went through a lot together."

" You saved my life," Helga spat out without meaning to. Her frost-bitten cheeks blushed a darker red.

" When?" Arnold asked with a laugh.

" When we were in fifth grade," Helga said mechanically, not looking at him. " It was during that flood. I … fell out the window on the top floor – God, I don't remember how. But you caught me." She looked at him, and saw in his eyes the memory dawning on him.

" You called out my name," he said quietly. They stared at each other after that: a boundary seemed to have been crossed. Helga felt him see past her mask, and she didn't mind. 

" Hey, Arnold!" a man's baritone voice called out to him from the other side of the playground. Helga turned to see Gerald approaching, two pig-tailed rugrats in puffy pink coats jogging ahead of him toward the playground. Arnold waved, and Helga's head dipped, sorry that the moment of truth she'd suddenly felt had passed.

" Gerald," Arnold said, his voice changing a bit in the presence of his old friend, " I haven't seen you since Halloween, man," he reminded him. 

" Yeah, yeah," Gerald said, nodding and slapping the hand Arnold offered amicably. " We're in town for the holidays, staying with my parents."

Helga noticed that Gerald wore the same type of clothes that Dirk was fond of: stylish enough to prove that you had money without being showy. She gave Arnold's attire another glance: his jeans were rugged and old, and really too thin for this weather, his long coat had holes in places and was missing two buttons: Helga remembered seeing something similar on his grandfather, ages ago. He wore a scarf that looked handmade: she imagined that Kathryn had knitted it for him in the first year of their marriage, that they'd sat by the fire with mugs of hot chocolate while her needles clicked, that she'd promised the scarf would keep him warm even when she wasn't there to do the job herself. Helga wasn't sure if she wanted to barf or cry, thinking about it.

" Is that you, Helga?" Gerald asked. His voice sounded the same: it had always been as deep as a man's since he'd hit puberty. She nodded and offered a tiny grin in spite of herself. She and Gerald had always hated each other. He'd always been quick to advise Arnold to give up the niceties and stay away from her.

" Gerald," she said curtly, " You look well. Are those your daughters?"

" Yep," he said proudly, watching the girls as they pushed each other up and down on the snow-covered see-saw. " Amber and Gracie," he said.

" How's Maureen?" Arnold asked about someone who Helga guessed was his wife: the woman who had stolen him from Phoebe? Or had Phoebe let him be stolen? She didn't really know the whole story.

Helga imagined how she'd have felt if she'd known for sure all those years that Arnold was married. That he was officially not hers, as he had never been. She imagined what his life with Kathryn must have been like. Helga had never known a warm, comforting kind of love. She'd always had relationships, but like the family she had grown up with, her trust in her partners was shaky at best; she was always waiting for them to betray her, to give up on her, to grow bored. And they always proved her right.

But Arnold and his wife: surely they trusted each other completely. She pictured them lingering together in their fluffy, white bed on a rainy Sunday morning. She pictured Arnold, his blond hair tousled, his eyes soft and still idealistic, washed in blue Sunday morning light, watching his wife with adoration. But when Helga turned her thoughts to his bed fellow, she envisioned not a red haired Brit, but herself. A thinner, more relaxed version, perhaps, but Helga nonetheless. How she would have whiled away the days if Arnold had been her husband! Forget corporate takeovers: even making a piece of toast would have been too much to ask of her. She would have only been able to bask in his glow, to lie beside him and admire his body: uncloaked and vulnerable to only her.

Helga realized that she was getting carried away.

" Hey," Arnold said, tapping her shoulder while Gerald regarded her curiously. " You alright?"

" Yeah…" Helga said with a forced laugh. " I'm just … tired. I was in an accident," she blurted out without thinking. Arnold raised his eyebrows with concern.

" What happened?" Gerald asked.

" Uh, nothing," Helga said, shutting her eyes and giving her memory a shake. The details were fuzzy, even to her. She remembered an old woman, she could still smell the sheets of her too-sterile hospital bed. " An elevator crash in Canada."

" Damn!" Arnold said, his brow furrowing, " That's scary. Did you sue?"

" N-no," Helga said, surprised that she hadn't thought of that herself. 

" Truthfully, I don't even remember the name of the building …" 

" Geez," Gerald scoffed, " You get brain damage in the crash or something? You could get millions from those people!"

Helga scowled at him, " Maybe I was thankful enough just to come away with my life!" she said, " I'm not obsessed with money so much that its my first thought after coming out of a coma."

" You coulda fooled me," Gerald muttered. Helga felt like slugging him, but she had even surprised herself with her words. What's become of me? she wondered, being around Arnold must be making me into a softie. Not that he was much of a softie, himself, anymore.

" That's a good point, Helga," Arnold said, looking at Gerald, " Give her a break, man." 

Or maybe he was. Helga's heart raced: it wasn't the first time he'd been the only one to stand up for her. Why the hell did he even give her the time of day, then and now? She'd done nothing but treat him like scum throughout most of his life.

Gerald crossed his arms and regarded the kids romping through the snow on the school yard. Helga had an feeling he'd demand an explanation from Arnold later, but in the meantime she didn't care. The two of them didn't seem to be that close anymore, anyway: she certainly hadn't seen Gerald at the Sunset Arms for the boys' Sunday poker game.

" I'm going to go look around," she mumbled, walking away from them, toward the school building. She heard footsteps following her quietly through the thick snow, and she had a pretty good idea it wasn't Gerald.

Turning, she looked to Arnold, who put his hands in his pockets and chewed his lip a bit.

" I'll show you something?" he suggested, unsure of himself.

" Okay," she agreed, deciding not to flesh out the situation with too much talk. It was surreal enough just being back here at their old elementary school, she didn't want to confuse things by offering a lot of forget-me-nots that would spoil the mood. Instead she just followed Arnold as he led her around to the back of the school, toward the gym. 

" Will Miles be alright?" she asked.

" Gerald's watching them," he said, " I know the two of you don't … agree with each other, but I trust him to take care of the kids. Anyway, this will just take a minute." He reached back and grabbed her gloved hand to help her over a snowy pile of rubble near the remodeled cafeteria, and then caught himself in the moment and looked back at her quizzically, as if to ask her if this contact was okay. Helga shrugged her shoulders and attempted a friendly smile: it felt odd, being nice to Arnold. She squeezed his hand.

" It must be weird for you," she said, " Being in all this cold weather after your … jungle days."

" Yeah," he said, stopping near the gymnasium doors, " Sometimes I feel like I just imagined that part of my life—that I never really got out of Brooklyn."

Helga scoffed, " Tell me about it. Back here … at the old school, especially, it feels like my adult life was just a bad dream."

Arnold stared at her, his lips parted slightly, as if he had the impulse to speak but couldn't begin to find the words.

" Like if you just wished hard enough you could go back in time," he finally said. Helga looked at him and tried to envision him morphing back into the boy he was. Would anything be different if they could go back? She doubted it.

" We're in the right place for a time shift, anyway," she said.

" This is it," Arnold said, looking up at the double doors with a sigh. Helga remembered Arnold's sighs with undying clarity: he had the ability to be exasperated in the most adorable way. " The lock is broken," he explained, reaching out to push the door open slightly. There was a crack barely big enough for them to climb through, one at a time. " Go on in," he said, " I'll hold the door."

" But …" Helga couldn't help but think that the interior of the gym looked a little foreboding. It was pitch dark in there, and she heard the emptiness of the large room echoing from behind the doors. 

" I'm coming in after you," he assured her, and something about the way he looked at her when he said it made Helga all too eager to scramble into a dark room with the object of her past (and, suddenly, present) affection.

So she crawled inside, and the scent that hit her upon entering took her breath away. It was the smell of a rainy day of recess spent playing an awkward indoor kickball game, the smell of a sweaty, nervous school dance, of every science fair she'd attended to root for Phoebe's inevitable victory. She stood up in the dark room, completely disoriented as her eyes struggled to adjust. But Helga could clearly see the past, even in darkness: she could see her ten year old self, sulking with her trademark glare as she ripped on Arnold for fawning over Ruth McDougal, or Lila, or whomever, while secretly yearning for the dreamy impossibility of a slow dance with her head resting on his shoulder.

She heard him struggle through the door behind her, and felt his hand, heavy on her shoulder.

" Let me find the light," his voice was close to her ear, and Helga could barely breathe, choked by too many memories, too many unfulfilled dreams that were threatening to come true with every new touch.

Its too late, too late, she told herself quickly. We're both broken, used and sober now. There's nothing to dreaming of a romance with Arnold, there never was. It was just something to fill the hours. And now … now she could only hope to make a quick friend before leaving Brooklyn and all her memories behind forever.

" Here it is," she heard him say, and suddenly bright yellow light flooded the gym. Helga gasped, she was blind for a moment, and then the arena of her past came to life before her eyes. The soft light washed over the gym, and she stepped forward, taking it in.

" Pretty weird, huh?" Arnold asked with a small chuckle.

" Remember the dance with Dino Spumoni?" Helga asked, her voice small. " Rhonda and I were … giving you a hard time about booking him, but, but it was perfect."

" Yeah," Arnold said, standing beside her and watching the walls like she was, like they might come alive with the characters from their past: Rhonda rolling her eyes at Sheena's latest fashion faux-paux, Eugene tripping over his shoelaces, Curly snickering to himself in the corner. " That was a good time," he said wistfully of the dance.

" I guess so," Helga said, letting out her breath and taking off her heavy coat and hat, " I never really had a good time at the dances. All the other girls got partners, I was always left standing near the punch bowl." She tried to laugh lightheartedly but she couldn't make it sound authentic. What childhood outcast didn't still harbor resentment toward their peers?

Arnold was quiet for a moment, thinking with his hands in his pockets. He looked at her:

" So let's dance now," he said, without cracking a smile. Helga grinned and gave him a sideways look, trying to call his bluff. He didn't flinch. 

" What?" she asked, laughing, " We can't dance – I'm … no! There isn't even any music."

" I can take care of that," Arnold said, jogging over to the makeshift stage at the other end of the gym. Helga watched him dig through some boxes until he came out with a record. He waved it over his head triumphantly, and then placed it on the dusty old turntable.

" No, Arnold," Helga said, shaking her head as he walked back to her. " It's a nice gesture, really, but…" The record started to play; it was some old jazz lady singing a haunting song about her lost romance. Arnold reached for her.

" Helga," he said, " Will you dance with me?"

" Quit it!" she snapped, " You're being cheesy."

" Come ON," he said, grabbing her hand, " Humor me. For my sake. Its been awhile since I've cut the rug with a hip young lady."

" Oh please," Helga moaned, but she allowed him to drag her into the middle of the floor. And she certainly allowed him to place a hand on her waist, holding her hand in the other. She gingerly found his shoulder with her own free hand, suddenly wishing they weren't the same height so she wouldn't have to face his intense, melting stare as they moved across the floor.

" This is silly," she said quietly.

" I thought you wanted a slow dance?" he said, looking slightly dejected.

" Arnold," Helga said, squeezing his shoulder inadvertently. " I am glad to see you still have … some feelings. Yesterday … I don't know, you scared me. Its scary to think of the mascot for optimism turning against his old ways."

" Everyone gets a little jaded as they grow up," he said quietly.

" Well, yeah," Helga admitted, " Especially Phoebe, geez! But you … I don't know, what would we have all done without you, growing up?"

" Oh, come on," he muttered, annoyed with her flattery, " Can't you just insult me and put glue in my hair like you did when we were kids?"

" Sorry," Helga said, her face falling a bit. " I don't think I have the energy for that, anymore."

" Helga," he scolded, reaching down to cup her chin in his hand, pulling her face up toward his. " I was kidding. I'm glad we can be civil to each other, finally. You know … you were the great mystery of my youth?"

" What?" Helga asked with a nervous laugh, shocked that she was the great _anything_ of someone's life.

Arnold nodded, " You used to jump-rope outside of my house all afternoon when I stayed inside. I know I always irritated you, but I used to think that maybe I was your hobby. That pestering me was the highlight of your day," he grinned.

" It was different, with you," she admitted, her voice tiny. He won't drag it out of me, she promised herself, but when he looked at her like that … there was no telling …

" Then in high school you just kind of drifted in a different direction, I guess," he said. She scoffed.

" Yeah, the hard-drinking, anti-social direction," she quipped, " You know I managed to land myself in Alcoholics Anonymous at seventeen?"

" I know," he said quietly. " I used to collect gossip about you."

" Well, then," Helga said, " I guess you know that I ran away from home after high school."

" Yes," Arnold said quietly.

" You don't know everything about me," Helga challenged. " You remember when you were trying to reunite Mr. Hyuuh with his daughter on Christmas? And you needed those Nancy Spumoni snow boots?"

" Yes."

" Well, the ones that 'magically' fell into your hands were mine, a Christmas gift from my mother," she told him.

" I know," he said. She looked at him, taken aback.

" But how?" she asked. Arnold shook his head.

" I just had a feeling," he explained.

" What else do you know about me, smart guy?" she asked, a little annoyed.

" I know that you talked the other girls out of playing Juliet in our school play," he said, " Because you wanted the part."

" Yeah, so what?" Helga asked, letting go of him and taking a step back, examining her nails, " Maybe I was toying with the idea of becoming an actress."

But he walked to her, and put his arms around her again, pulling her closer this time. 

" I know that you wrote poetry," he said, " I used to see you scribbling in class, I used to wonder what you wrote about."

" Oh shut up, shut up," Helga said, tears raising and threatening to choke off her voice, " You think you knew me – ha! Did you know I loved you? When we were kids? I absolutely adored you, and it drove me crazy. Did you know that??"

" I thought, maybe," he said quietly, " Its okay, I won't hold it against you. We all had bad taste back then. Hell, I was head over heels for Lila, the biggest bubble-head of them all."

" Bad taste?" Helga said, looking up at him, " What do you mean?"

" I mean me!" he said, laughing, " Take a good look at the man of your childhood dreams, Helga," he said darkly, " Not exactly the stuff of adult fantasies."

" Give me a break," Helga said, sniffling, the weight of her confession slowly sinking in, " I could do a lot worse."

" I don't see how," he muttered, " A washed up, lonely man who never got out of Brooklyn."

" Arnold," Helga said sincerely, " I … I'd still be lucky to have you. I mean, look at me! No job, no spouse, no family, no friends—"  
" Welcome to the club!" Arnold shouted.

" You have a job, dunce!" she shouted back.

" Oh, how could I forget – I have the luxury of washing other people's clothes for a living!" The two of them stared each other down for a moment, and smiles broke across their faces.

" God," Helga said with a laugh, bringing a hand to her forehead, " Who'd have thought we'd ever end up back here, in freaking PS-118, arguing about who has it worse off?"

Arnold giggled, and in a flash he had scooped her up in his arms and pressed his lips against hers, almost playfully. He moved the tip of his tongue over her bottom lip, and Helga realized in a rush what was happening. She shivered all over and grabbed his arms, steadying herself, somehow afraid that she'd fall.

Arnold brought his head back and looked at her, saw her terrified expression and released her.

" Sorry," he said, " I got caught up. Sorry. I haven't even kissed anyone in three years—" he stopped himself, embarrassed.

" No, its okay," Helga said, the mere effort of keeping her knees from buckling taking up too much brain power to allow her to put a sentence together.

" I guess we should get out of here," he mumbled. The record was skipping near the stage on the other side of the room, and he went to lift the needle, leaving Helga standing dumbfounded in the middle of the gym.

Arnold, come back, she wanted to call out. The cold air in the unheated gym seemed to reach her as soon as he walked away, and she shook and tried to hold on to the bit of warmth that his touch had left behind. 

Something in her told her to run. I can't handle this, she realized, I wasn't meant to see this through. This is a fantasy, a dream…

Before she knew it, she was fleeing the gym as Arnold slipped the old jazz record back into its cover. She pulled back the loose door and catapulted herself out onto the snowy landscape. He'll never catch up with me, she assured herself as she jogged back toward Phoebe's house. But of course she secretly wanted him to. Now that she'd had a taste of Arnold: the coffee, the cigarettes, the longing, the loneliness: her yearning for him had only grown stronger.

To be continued in part 5 …


	5. Waltz #2

****

A/N: Just a small thing: thanks to Mickey for pointing out that I had a few facts mixed up: I will go back and edit the story when it is a finished product, but for the moment I think I'll just go on as I was, as it would be weird to change the name of Phoebe's mom in the middle of the story… :). I was going to go back and re-format the chapters anyway (the bold print is annoying me) and fix a few mistakes I'd already spotted. So you can look forward to a more polished version of this when I finally throw it up on my planned Hey, Arnold! Website. Enjoy!

One quick WARNING: This contains a bit of a spoiler for the episode 'Married', in case you haven't seen it yet. _I_ haven't even seen it yet, I just read a spoiler myself, so I know what happens! ;)

One more WARNING: This installment is kind of emotionally intense, in my opinion. So be prepared!

Christmas In Brooklyn

Part Five: Waltz #2

__

" I'm** never **gonna know you **now**: 

But I'm gonna **love** you, anyhow." ~ Elliott Smith

****

As it turned out, Phoebe's family could really get down. After Meiko's elaborate Christmas Eve dinner, the funk music was turned on, and the Heyerdahls

danced the night away. Helga was enjoying their untraditional interpretation of Christmas, but meanwhile, Phoebe was no where to be found. She had excused herself after dinner, and Helga hadn't seen her since.

Helga was trying to have fun dancing with Phoebe's uncles and cousins, but all she could think about was what had happened earlier, with Arnold. He must think I'm the scum of the earth, she thought sadly, he lays his heart on his sleeve and I look at him like he's crazy: when actually he's a mind reader. But it was too unbelievable, the notion of Arnold finally having feelings for her: of having _had_ feelings for her, of wondering about her poetry, her jump-roping habits . . .

" Hey, Kyo," Helga said, making her way across the crowded living room to Phoebe's father, who was twirling a shrieking Meiko in circles, " Have you seen Phoebe?"

" Phoebe?" Kyo asked, as if he recalled the name but couldn't picture the face. Helga could tell by his pink cheeks that he'd had a little too much sake with dinner. " Yeah, I think she went upstairs. Care to dance?" he asked, as his giggling wife shoved him away, insisting that she would be sick if they continued.

" No, thank you," Helga said over the loud music, leaving the living room and heading upstairs to find her friend. The second floor of the Heyerdahl brownstone was slightly quieter, with Meiko's cats mulling around, confused by the crowd downstairs, and a few of the older relatives already turning in to bed. Helga bumped into a short, elderly Japanese woman as she was rounding the corner toward Phoebe's room.

" Excuse me," Helga said, starting to walk past her.

" Kiwotsukeru hitomajiwari osanagokoro," the woman said softly, smiling at Helga. 

" I'm sorry?" Helga said, surprised. She had a very basic knowledge of Japanese, thanks to some lucrative international business transactions, but she had no idea what the old woman had just said to her. The woman then walked away without explaining, disappearing into one of the very full bedrooms. Man, this house is crowded, Helga thought. She was sure she'd get no sleep: she was sharing her former guest room with Phoebe and two of her cousins.

" She said 'Be careful with his heart'," Phoebe's voice came suddenly from the shadows of the doorway of Helga's room. 

" What does she mean by that?" Helga asked, her heart racing. How could Phoebe's grandmother possibly know that she had been reckless with Arnold's heart today? Reckless with his heart … Helga hadn't really thought of it like that before.

" Who knows?" Phoebe said, as Helga joined her in the guest room, shutting the door behind them. " She's getting a little senile in her old age. Women in my family live forever … its kind of daunting."

" Pheebs," Helga said with a sigh, " What are you doing up here all by yourself? You're really missing a party down there."

" I guess I'm just not in a partying mood," Phoebe muttered, taking a seat on the bed. Helga went to the window and peered out at the street below, street lamps glowing faintly in a few spots behind the wall of thick, down coming snow. 

" Whatsamatter, Pheebs?" Helga asked, putting on her 4th grade slumber party voice. She sat down on the bed beside her friend and gave her full attention. Phoebe just stared at her.

" You wouldn't really understand," she said, " Trust me."

" Hey, come on!" Helga said, " Give me a little credit – I know a thing or two about depression, trust _me_."

Phoebe sighed, " Oh, Helga," she said, " Its that I'm clinically depressed or anything. Its just the holidays – they always kind of get me down."

" Yeah, I hear ya," Helga volunteered, " Dirk and I used to jet off to Jamaica every year just to avoid the whole mess."

Phoebe was quiet for a moment, thinking. " Do you miss him?" she asked. Helga was surprised with the question, but then she realized Phoebe had never known Dirk. I can't believe I didn't even invite her to the wedding, Helga thought sadly. Of course, it had been a simple affair – not much more than a business dinner, really. Olga had cut a few hours out of her busy schedule to attend the reception, and had ducked out early when several of Dirk's sleaze-ball clients had tried to hit on her. Helga remembered with a pang of guilt that she'd declined Big Bob's offer to dance with her. Miriam probably made him do it, anyway, she thought, pushing her remorseful feelings down.

" No," Helga answered easily. " Dirk was not … 'The One'." Phoebe gave her a look.

" Have you seen Arnold since you've been back?" she inquired calmly, pretending that the idea of their reunion was only mildly interesting.

Helga didn't answer.

" I asked him to come over for the party," Phoebe said, causing Helga's heart rate to spike, " But he said he had other commitments."

" You saw Arnold today?" Helga asked, involuntarily jumping up.

" I take it you haven't seen him, then," Phoebe said snidely.

" No," Helga said, shutting her eyes, " I have seen him. Today, and yesterday, too. Oh, Phoebe! The whole things an awful mess. How do I always manage to screw things up with him? Its like I'm sabotaging myself." 

" What happened?" Phoebe asked, not bothering to conceal her excitement now. Suddenly the air of their conversation changed to that of a slumber party again, two young girls talking animatedly about their crushes.

" He kissed me," Helga said slowly, only fully realizing that it had actually happened as the words left her lips, " He actually made the first move. I was … stunned. I ran."

" Why'd he kiss you?" Phoebe asked.

Helga frowned and felt herself slip into bully mode: " Why wouldn't he? Criminey – what am I, chopped liver?"

" That's not what I meant," Phoebe scolded, " And you know it. I just didn't know there was anything between you … still, after all these years."

" Its news to me, too," Helga muttered. " But as soon as I saw him … oh, this is a bunch of malarkey! A venomous spider probably crawled onto my lips and bit me while I wasn't looking … or something."

" WHAT?" Phoebe exclaimed.

" Maybe he was trying to suck out the poison before it was too late!" Helga cried, exasperated, " It makes more sense than him making a pass at me."

" Helga," Phoebe said, rolling her eyes, " You're a beautiful woman! And he's a lonely man, a man who remembers being loved absolutely – if not bizarrely and from afar – by you. Why can't you believe that he wants you?"

__

He wants you. Helga couldn't let her mind process the words, the long awaited satisfaction was too great.

" It-it doesn't matter now anyway," Helga said softly, defeated. She sat back down, let the pace of her heart slow. " I wrecked my chances when I dashed away from him like a bat out of hell. He probably thinks … oh, who cares what he thinks? I just need to leave first thing tomorrow morning and never come back to Brooklyn. I can't handle the past-tense atmosphere – the good old days are over, and it's time to get the hell out of Dodge."

There was a knock at the door: probably one of Phoebe's cousins coming up to brush her teeth before turning in for sugar plum Christmas Eve dreams. It was nearly midnight, nearly the end of another year, and Helga was almost thirty … She got up to answer the door.

" Wait!" Phoebe shouted suddenly, " Helga, listen to me. I wouldn't dare give advice that wasn't well-founded, and you know that. I'll tell you this once, and I want to you listen."

Helga swallowed a lump in her throat. She had a feeling she knew what Phoebe was going to say.

" I always defended you to people who didn't understand … your ways, even in high school when we'd drifted apart," Phoebe spoke with an intense-ness, an urgency, " And when we were kids, I remember Rhonda's little fortune telling game – how she predicted you and Arnold would end up married."

" That was stupid," Helga said quickly, her heart breaking. " All the choices said 'Helga' – it was rigged to freak him out."

" After the joke was revealed, Rhonda was goofing on the whole idea of the two of you together," Phoebe continued without acknowledging Helga's dismissal. 

" But I set her straight, because I believed in you. I believed in your love for him – that, God, ridiculous fixation on him that turned from a crush into a reason to live as we got older. Helga, if you can't at least give something that I thought, that _you_ thought, was so right for so long, I just don't know if I'll be able to believe in love at all anymore."

" Phoebe-" Helga began. The knocking on their door was more insistent now.

" And I don't think my faith in love can take another beating," Phoebe said softly. " Now, be a dear and answer the door."

Zombie-like after hearing Phoebe's words, Helga opened the door. It was Meiko, finally appearing worn out after her hectic week of Christmas 'vacation'.

" Hey, Helga," she said, yawning, " Is Phoebe in here?" Helga nodded and pointed in Phoebe's direction, still speechless.

" What's the matter, Mom?" Phoebe spoke as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders; she rose easily and went to her mother.

" One of your friends from down the street just showed up," Meiko said, 

" Could you please just play hostess for a bit and then send him home? I'm afraid I've worn myself out."

" Oh, Mom," Phoebe said, wrapping her in a hug and squeezing her shoulders, " Of course I can." Meiko looked surprised by her daughter's reaction: she thanked her, wished she and Helga a Merry Christmas, and walked down the hall toward her room, taking uncertain steps. Phoebe turned to Helga and made a drinking motion with her hand, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. 

" They always have too much to drink at parties," she said with a carefree grin. " I guess its really the only time my folks allow themselves to let loose."

" Who's here?" Helga stammered, trying to get the burden of the words out too quickly. Phoebe smiled slowly.

" Be careful with his heart," she mused, " Maybe Grandma Li's not so senile after all!"

" Oh, Phoebe, stop it!" Helga hissed, " Is it him?"

" I don't know!" Phoebe said cheerily, her sudden chipper attitude irritating Helga, " Maybe its Stinky! I invited him, too."

Helga and Phoebe made their way down stairs, but Phoebe stopped halfway when she caught sight of who was standing in the foyer. Helga bumped into Phoebe's back, not having anticipated her abrupt standstill.

" Hey, Pheebs, what's the big idea?" she asked, and then she looked up to see Gerald standing near the door, nervously clutching his winter hat.

" Gerald," Helga said, surprised and disappointed. But he didn't seem to hear her: he continued to stare at Phoebe as she carefully made her way down the stairs.

" Evening," she said coolly, walking past him into the piano room. " It's a little late for a visit, don't you think? Won't Maureen and the girls miss you?"

" I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas in a timely fashion," Gerald said,

" Its just now midnight, if my watch is right." Helga was surprised with him – she didn't think she'd ever seem Mr. Smooth look so unsure of himself. Phoebe stood in the piano room with her back to him, her hands on her hips. Helga sat down, dejected, on the stairs. So Arnold wasn't going to come over and … come over and what? He wasn't the one who owed an apology in their equation.

" Well," she heard Phoebe say quietly, " Merry Christmas. Now if you'll excuse me, I have cousins to tuck in, dishes to wash-"

" Phoebe," Gerald said carefully, " It's the anniversary of … the end of us."

" Yes," she said, coldly " An inverse anniversary, I suppose."

" It was nearly ten years ago," he said, " I could hardly believe myself, but I was sitting there at the dinner table thinking about it –"

Helga's eavesdropping was interrupted by the creaking of the front door, which Gerald had left partially open. In walked Miles, carrying a plateful of candy-cane shaped sugar cookies.

" Hey," he said quietly, despite the loud music that was still playing in the living room as the younger couples continued dancing, celebrating the official arrival of Christmas. Miles walked to Helga and smiled at her, " Merry Christmas," he said, his voice soft. " Where should I put these?"

Helga felt weirdly touched, and her eyes threatened to overflow as she regarded the little boy who looked so much like Arnold had as a child. 

" Um," she sniffled, " Just put them on the stairs for now. We can take them into the kitchen in a minute."

" Are you alright?" Miles asked, putting the cookies down as told, and taking a seat beside her on the stairs.

" I don't think so," Helga whimpered, not believing that she was going over the edge in the presence of Arnold's six year old son. 

" What's the matter?" he asked with the kind of genuine concern that only a child can have for a near stranger, " Didn't you get what you wanted for Christmas?"

Helga shook her head, thinking of what she really wanted; it was something only she could give to herself: the courage to let Arnold love her. Something she'd been longing to give herself since grade school, something she still didn't have the guts to receive.

" Me either," Miles said with a sigh, " Every Christmas I ask Santa for my mother back, but it never works. Dad says Santa isn't in control of that sort of thing, but I ask him anyway, just in case."

Hearing Miles' Christmas wish was the last straw; tears spilled down both of her cheeks, her shoulders bounced up and down with sobs.

" I'm so sorry," she cried, looking at Miles, " Its all my fault. It wasn't supposed to happen this way."

" No, its not your fault!" Miles reassured, placing a tiny gloved hand on her arm, " I thought it was my fault for awhile too, because I wasn't there to save her. I kept thinking: I should have been there! If only I'd have been there with them, I could have picked up a long stick and held it out for Mommy to grab onto. But Dad says its nobody's fault. And I think he's right." Miles patted Helga's arm in an attempt to comfort her, but his little soliloquy about his mother had her bawling even harder.

" No, I've done everything wrong," Helga said, gasping for air between sobs, 

" I've done something horrible to your father," she said, completely sure that things could have been different at least for him, if not for her, had she only grown a spine and admitted to him back then that she'd loved him. 

" Daddy?" Miles said, confused. 

" Yeah?" Arnold's voice came from the door; he knocked slightly and pushed it entirely open, past the crack that Miles had slid in through. He saw Helga sobbing on the stairs and his eyes widened.

" Oh my God," he said, upset, " What's wrong?"

" Nothing," Helga said quickly, trying to muster up a causal smile and failing miserably, " I'm fine. Everything's great."

Miles held a hand up to his mouth and beckoned to his Dad with one gloved finger. Arnold's brow furrowed, and he stepped closer to listen to his son whisper:

" She didn't get her Christmas present."

Arnold stepped back and looked at Helga, who sniffed slightly and ventured a peek at him. He looked handsome dressed in his 'fancy' Christmas outfit: a nice white shirt with a black tie and old gray trousers.

" That's funny," Arnold said shyly, " I thought she just didn't want it."

Helga realized what he meant and piped up: " No, I do want it!" she insisted, childlike and scared, " I do! Its just … ughh! This is hard for me, okay?"

Arnold rolled his eyes, " I'm not _making_ it hard, you know," he said. " Miles, why don't you put the cookies in the kitchen and go find Yuri and Tomoko? I'm sure they're around here somewhere."

" Alright," Miles said glumly, clearly having preferred to stay and listen to the adults weave their confusing and intriguing webs of dialogue. He picked up the tray of cookies and hopped off the staircase, making his way toward the swinging door that led to the kitchen. 

" Thanks for listening to me, Miles," Helga muttered, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her silk shirt.

" You're welcome," the little boy said as he trotted off.

" Expressing gratitude!" Arnold said, raising his eyebrows in mock impression, " That's a step in the right direction."

" Lay off, football head," Helga grumbled, " If your plan is to turn me into some namby-pamby well-wisher then you're out of luck."

" Helga," Arnold said, letting out his breath and closing the front door behind him before stepping up and having a seat beside her on the stairs, " I wouldn't change a thing about you." He started to put an arm around her, and hesitated. Bravely and without thinking, Helga grabbed his arm and yanked it around her shoulders. Arnold grinned. 

" What the hell do you even see in a screw up like me?" she asked, tears gathering in her eyes again. She blinked them back down, cursing herself for being such a wimp.

" Hmm," Arnold said, rubbing his chin, which was already growing the beginnings of his next-day beard. Helga knew she would always have a hard time accepting facial hair on the chin and cheeks of her puppy-love. " Well," he began, 

" I don't want to give you a big head, but if you demand a list then I shall supply one. What do I see in you? I don't know. My past? Unconditional love? Complication, that's for sure. And dedication, definitely. A beautiful young woman who loves the awkward and sad little girl she was too much to let her go."

" Oh, come off of it!" Helga said, blushing fiercely and looking away, into the piano room where Phoebe sat with Gerald. She watched them for a moment: they still looked like lovers to the naked eye; their mannerisms and facial expressions were those of a pair of young people in the midst of a lover's quarrel. " I'm hardly _young_," she muttered, " For one thing."

" Sure you are," Arnold said, taking her chin gently and turning his face toward hers. " You've got your whole life ahead of you." His words hit Helga like a ton of bricks: but a welcome ton of bricks. They seemed to be the brightest point of light, the moral, the meaning of all of this.

" Shut up, shut up," she whimpered, closing her eyes as he pressed his face close to hers, " Shut up and just do it," she whispered, " Just do it before I change my mind, ya putz." She couldn't believe her words, but she knew Arnold would catch the meaning beneath them, and they seemed so appropriate, even now: she was still Helga and he was still Arnold, the enemies, the lovers, the eternal paradox.

" Shhh," he cooed, squeezing her tightly against the rise and fall of his chest, stroking her temples and letting his nose brush hers, " If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all," he admonished playfully, his lips moving over hers as he spoke.

" Arnold," Helga squeaked in a tiny and vulnerable voice that she had never before let him hear, and as she said his name her lips touched his, and then pressed against them, finally, finally. His mouth was cold from his trek there through the snow, but Helga's soon warmed it. She kissed him timidly, afraid that the kiss wouldn't be the perfection she had always hoped for. 

But oh, Arnold's mouth: the soft touch of his lips, the tiny caress of his tongue, it was cherries and sugar and cigarettes and coffee and orange popsicles, and everything perfect about the world that she'd let slip away when they'd parted.

" Arnold, Arnold," she moaned softly, clutching at him, relishing the taste of him and shaking all over. 

" Helga, Helga," he mimicked with a teasing grin, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, the skin exposed at her neck above her shirt collar. 

" Well, who would have thunk it," came a ribbing voice that Helga recognized as Gerald's. It took her vision a moment to focus after Arnold's soft lips separated from hers, and she squinted at Gerald, who was watching them from the foot of the stairs with an aghast Phoebe.

Arnold just smiled and looked at Helga.

" Don't freak out," he whispered. 

" I'm trying not to," Helga muttered. Something about Gerald and Phoebe knowing was mortifying. Arnold stood up and offered a hand to Helga, who reluctantly took it, pulling herself out of the world on the stairs that had consisted of only she and Arnold. They walked down the stairs and addressed their shocked friends.

" Well," Helga said, looking at Phoebe and then quickly at the floor.

" Told you so," Phoebe said with a tiny grin.

" Huh?" Gerald asked, and Phoebe chauffeured him out the door, telling him not to ask. When she turned back to the blond couple, Arnold raised his eyebrows at her.

" What was he doing here?" he asked.

" Calm down, morality police," Phoebe said with a wry smile, " No adultery here. He just … apologized."

" For what?" Helga asked, feeling out of the loop.

" It's a long story," Phoebe said, sounding a bit distant, but relieved, and new. " But it was all I needed to hear. I got my Christmas wish."

Phoebe excused herself to go try and straighten up the post-feast mess in the kitchen. In the living room the tone had changed: sweet old Christmas songs had replaced the dance music.

" Man," Arnold said, casting a glance into the room, at the large group of people gathered there. " It sure is crowded here."

" Yep," Helga said, her heart rate racing into overdrive.

" And its not a very big house," he added.

" Nope."

" And I'm sure Stinky would give you discount rates if you were to come stay at the boarding house for the night. It being Christmas and all."

" You think so?" Helga asked, toying with him a bit. Arnold nodded and smiled, and bent to place another kiss on her lips. Helga let the kiss deepen this time, and her body screamed for more as his tongue met hers. 

" So what do you say?" he whispered, breaking the kiss.

He didn't have to ask her twice.

___________________

Helga and Arnold gathered up Miles and let Meiko and Kyo know that Helga would be spending the night at the boarding house. She collected her things, and the three of them tromped through the thickening snow, across the street toward the Sunset Arms.

She and Arnold were quiet on the way there, not sure how to act around Miles. 

" Maybe we'll see him," Miles said, looking up at the sky, " What do you think, Dad? This is about the time Santa makes his rounds, right?"

" Santa doesn't come until _all_ boys and girls are sound asleep," Arnold assured him. " So you'd better get to slumbering as soon as we get back, buster. Its way past your bedtime and you're causing the delay."

Miles looked panicked for a moment, and his pace increased as they approached the boarding house. When they got inside, Stinky was at a desk in the common room to the left of the foyer, shuffling through papers.

" Merry Christmas, Stinky!" Miles called before bolting upstairs to get in bed.

" Goodnight Dad! Goodnight Helga!"

" Sleep tight, Miles," Arnold called back before they heard the little boy's bedroom door shut upstairs.

" Helga?" Stinky said, walking to the foyer and eyeing her bag. " So you've changed your mind about stayin' with us, have you?"

" Yep," Helga said, still resenting the way Stinky looked at her, " I'd like a room, if you've got one. There's no room at the Inn down at the Heyerdahl house."

" Well, sure," Stinky said in his slow drawl, " Let me take your bag."

" I've got it," Helga said, stepping back, " If you could just tell me the room number." Stinky scratched his head, and went to a row of keys that was hanging on the wall behind the podium with the guestbook.

" I guess we'll put you in 2A," he said, handing her an old-fashioned brass key, " Let me know if the room's too drafty."

" I'm sure it will be just fine, Stinky," she said, taking the key. " I hate to still call you 'Stinky' now that we're adults. Same goes for Curly, but 'Thaddeus' is nearly as bad. What's your real name, anyway, Stinky?" she asked.

Stinky looked at her dead-on: " Stinky," he answered, point blank.

" Oh, heh," Helga picked up her bag, but Arnold took it from her, " Goodnight,

Stinky," she said.

" 'Night Stinky," Arnold added, following her up the stairs with her bag.

" Arnold," Stinky returned, flatly. Something in the tone of his voice made Helga shudder.

" Doesn't he give you the creeps a little bit?" she whispered when they were upstairs. Arnold shook his head.

" Come on, Helga," he said, " He's a good guy. Heck, me and Miles would probably be in a homeless shelter right now, had he not given us so many breaks on rent payment, and free dinners."

" Well, that's good," Helga said with a sigh, " At least he's flexible about money."

" Yeah," Arnold said, putting her bag down in front of 2A. " But … yesterday he was actually kind of confrontational with me about it. He said I needed to stop slacking off and give him the money … it sort of freaked me out. He must be a bad mood lately because of the holidays or something – he's been kind of cold for the past few days."

The past few days … Helga wondered if her presence, and her kinship with Arnold, wasn't what was making him sore. Arnold put his hands on her face then, and she instantly lost track of any thoughts of Stinky. All she could feel was Arnold's warmth, all she could see was his acceptance of her in his eyes, all she could hear was his soft breathing. The world was Arnold again, and when he kissed her tenderly there in the hall, the world burst into flames, and all the snow may as well have melted, as Helga's body smoldered in his arms.

They separated, not knowing where to go next. Arnold mentioned something about needing a shower, and Helga didn't dare presume that he was inviting her to join him, so she muttered a hasty goodnight and turned to unlock her door. She felt his fingers, soft and warm on the back of her neck. 

" Goodnight, Helga," he whispered sweetly, kissing her neck before walking off toward the W.C.

______________

Helga couldn't sleep. Just knowing that Arnold was there in the same house, that he wouldn't turn her away if she went to him, was making her crazy. She watched the digital clock by her bedside, the minutes passing so slowly she thought she might scream out through the darkness.

Finally, when she could no longer stand the longing, the yearning for him that she'd put up with for nearly twenty five years, she threw off her covers and went to the door. Then stopped, then turned back around. 

Helga walked back to her bed: what am I doing? she asked herself, gritting her teeth in frustration. This is all a crazy dream that will end when I leave the city: what am I going to do, somehow make a life here again in this ghost town, living in a boarding house with a Laundromat worker? Ha!

But then she rose again, cursing herself for even thinking that she could leave Arnold. She went to the door, and this time she got a hand on the doorknob before turning back around.

Now I'm going insane, Helga thought, sitting back on the bed and putting her head in her hands. He's already driving me insane! 

But it was an insanity that made her feel alive again, and worthwhile, and passionate. It was the insanity that was love, something she hadn't succumbed to since junior high, when she still allowed his mere presence in a room to melt her.

Helga jumped up again, this time resolving not to turn back. She stopped in front of the dresser mirror in the room, examining herself. Were these pajamas un-sexy? she wondered, studying her stripped pajama pants and white tank top. Dirk had always seemed to think so – oh, but what am I thinking? She thought, panicky. She hadn't even been intimate with Dirk for over two years, and there certainly hadn't been anyone else in between. 

Then she remembered Arnold's words in the gym that day: _I haven't even kissed anyone in three years_. And he certainly hadn't lost his touch, Helga thought, a shiver moving through her body at the mere remembrance of his gentle kisses.

So she finally threw the door open, and thrust herself out into the hall. She ran smack dab into someone coming out of the neighboring bathroom, who turned out to be Arnold, a towel wrapped around his waist.

" Helga," he said, pulling the towel tighter. She finally got to see him blush. _Really_ blush – his whole body flushed pink. Helga felt hers issue a similar reaction.

" Hi," she said, her voice funny and unrecognizable. " Want to talk?"

Arnold smiled, " Can't sleep?" he asked.

" Not really," Helga admitted quietly. 

" C'mon," he said, flicking his head toward his room at the end of the hall. Helga felt drops of water from his wet hair on her bare arms. She followed him into his room, a modest bachelor pad with a healthy fichus tree growing in one corner. His bed looked comfortable, so she climbed into it. Arnold grinned, watching her.

" Feeling a little forward tonight, are we?" he asked, walking to the bed.

" I don't know what I'm feeling," Helga conceded, her voice still sounding strange in her own ears, " I feel crazy." He sat down on the end of the bed and she reached for him. " Am I being crazy?" she whispered, realizing it was her heart pounding in her ears that was obstructing her hearing, making things sound new.

" You're making sense to me," he said softly, leaning over her as she rested on his pillows. Helga shut her eyes and breathed in his scent: freshness and soap, with musk and want already surfacing on his newly cleaned slate.

" Arnold," she said, gazing up at him with virgin eyes, feeling as if she were treading in unexplored territory, though she'd been in bed with her share of men, it had never felt like this: surreal, elegant, with perfect moonlight streaming in through the window past ropes of thick snowfall. " I don't know what to do," she whispered. 

" I feel like you'll disappear when I touch you. Tell me I'm not dreaming?"

" You're not dreaming," he promised, " I'm really here," he said, taking her hand and pressing it to his warm cheek, " See?" The sweetness in his tone, the slow, careful rhythm to his moments, almost brought tears to Helga's eyes. Why didn't I hold out for this? she wondered, Why did I waste so many years?

" Tell me something," she said, her voice quavering, " That will make me know you again. Tell me something that will take the years away. The time travelling device – make it so we were never apart," she pleaded.

He kissed her softly. " I love you," was all he could offer. Helga took him in her arms and cried softly onto his shoulder. It was all that she could ask for.

________________

Helga couldn't bring herself to sleep that night: not with Arnold lying beside her. For a long time they stayed awake together: they would talk, softly and conscientiously, afraid that even a slight raise in their voices might break the perfection of the moment that they, mere mortals, had been lucky enough to wander into.

They would reach a point in their conversations that struck each of them in such a way that they ended up making love again, and Helga would always cry, prompting Arnold to ask what he was doing wrong. And she would laugh through her happy tears and tell him it was only what he was doing right.

Finally worn out, Arnold had drifted off to sleep in Helga's arms sometime around three o'clock in the morning, long after presents had been set out beneath trees, but not too long before the children of the world would rise to discover them. Helga's 'present' was already lying in her arms, and she had no eagerness to get out of bed: no desire to ever get out of bed again, really. She only wanted to continue as she was doing, watching Arnold's every breath, noting the feel of every part of his skin against every part of hers. 

She felt like a long-starved orphan who had suddenly been fed, and she didn't know what to make of it. Arnold offered the kind of love that not even her parents had been able to give her, and she only hoped she could find something natural within her that could begin to return it. She had no training in this arena, she would be winging it from now on.

When Arnold rolled over in his sleep, Helga marveled at how comfortable his back was as she laid against it. Dirk's had been bony and precarious, and Helga had gotten neck cramps from trying to avoid his shoulder blades. But Arnold's seemed to have been made for her to rest against, soft skin over a working man's muscles, it felt like a heaven to press her face to.

It was all she could do not to giggle with giddy happiness. How could she be here? How could she, so misguided, find her way back to him despite everything? Her only answer was fate, something she had always believed in when she'd loved him, something she'd forgotten in the company of Dirk and other men who made her think that love was only a harsh realism that the movies ruined for you by making it look easy.

Helga understood, though, that this was still the real world, and things from here on out would not be easy. There would be money issues, there would be the issue of Miles, who seemed to like Helga well enough now, but there was no telling what his reaction would be when he learned she was his father's girlfriend. As far as Helga could tell, Arnold hadn't had a lover since Kathryn died.

But there was no denying now that they were meant to be, and somehow, Helga knew, they would find a way. At least she had Arnold, the master of solving everyone's problems, on her side. She squeezed him in his sleep and smiled: you were always on my side, she thought, even when I didn't deserve it.

Arnold woke around five o'clock in the morning, and Helga pretended to be asleep. She felt him climb over her, heard him leave the room, heard the toilet flush down the hall. She rolled over and pretended that she was just waking up as he was re-entering the room. She could still keep a bit of the extent of her worship of him to herself, she thought, smiling at him as he crossed the room toward her.

" Hey," he whispered, his newly awake voice huskier than usual. He knelt by the bed and lowered his face to hers, " How are you sleeping?" he asked.

" Great," Helga answered, " But I should probably retire to my room for the rest of the night. Won't Miles be rushing in any moment to alert you that its time to open presents?"

Arnold grinned, " For someone who's never had kids, you know them pretty well."

" Yeah, well," Helga said, reluctantly climbing out of his bed, " I was one, once," she reminded him. He kissed her softly on the bridge of her nose. 

" Oh, yeah," he said with a grin, " Thanks for thinking of him. I guess I'll see you downstairs by the tree?"

" Count on it," Helga said, giving him a farewell kiss, " Though I might not make an entry as early as Miles."

She left Arnold's room with a tinge of sadness that she told herself she shouldn't be feeling. Don't be melodramatic, girl, she thought, its not like you're not going to see him again in a few hours. But she had a weird feeling. Like things weren't supposed to be this easy. Like life tended to throw her curveballs at moments like this. But she shook it off – she had every right to have a happy ending, she'd earned it, hadn't she?

Helga heard a door close as she was going into her room, and she instinctively looked up at Arnold's old attic room. The DO NO DISTURB sign on Stinky's door was swinging slightly. Helga shuddered, and quickly went into her room, locking the door behind her.

_________________

Christmas morning came like any other, with unusually bright skies and a fresh layer of snow covering the former world. Helga awoke around nine o'clock, after having some bizarre dreams about Olga informing the family that she was leaving her husband for another man: and then introducing them to Sid, the boy with the goofy nose from Helga's fourth grade class.

Man, she thought, climbing out of bed and rubbing her eyes, did last night really happen? She looked around, and sure enough, she was in the boarding house. But she couldn't be sure until she saw Arnold. So she hurriedly got dressed, threw her hair up in a sloppy bun, and headed downstairs to join the gift-opening festivities.

As she padded downstairs, the sounds in the common room reassured her that everything was as it should be: Arnold was chuckling with one of the other boarders, Miles was playing with a new, loud and annoying toy, and someone was making coffee in the kitchen. When Arnold saw her coming down the stairs he beamed, and Helga returned his affectionate smile, knowing that they wouldn't be able to embrace in front of Miles just yet. 

" Hey there, Helga," he said, standing when she came into the room, and squeezing her shoulder with secret meaning. " Did you sleep well?" he asked her again.

" Great!" Helga answered again, wishing she'd had more time to fix herself up a little nicer. Arnold didn't seem to notice, though, his eyes were just as warm as they were last night. 

Helga took a seat beside Arnold on the couch, had a cup of coffee and relaxed. Things were going to be okay. That creep Stinky wasn't even around to spoil her mood. She let Miles explain in detail the every nuance of his new toy.

" And, see this button?" he asked, looking up to make sure she was paying attention. Helga nodded, and he continued, giving a detailed explanation of its function. When he was done, he looked to his father.

" Hey, dad, where's Stinky?" he asked. " He hasn't opened his present from us yet."

" He said we were out of eggnog," Arnold said with a shrug, " Apparently its 'not Christmas without eggnog'. He went to the store to get a new carton."

Miles cocked his head at his father, " Dad," he said with a little smile, " Aren't you going to give Helga her present?"

" Oh – Miles," Helga said, embarrassed, " I'm sure he didn't get me anything – we didn't really plan on being together for the holidays-"

" No, I got you a little something," Arnold said, surprising her, " Miles helped me pick it out."

" We got it from Riches, even," Miles said proudly.

" When did you do this?" Helga asked, beside herself, as Arnold handed her a small jewelry box.

Arnold shrugged, " Last night before the party. Its just a little trinket. Go on, open it." Helga did as he said, finding inside a necklace with a small, gold heart pendant.

" Arnold!" she exclaimed, flushing red, " You knew about my locket?!"

He frowned, "What locket?" he asked, " Don't tell me you already have one …"

" Oh – no," Helga laughed, " I did when I was a kid, but – it sort of got lost in the mix. Thanks," she said softly, giving him a quick hug, wanting to keep him in her arms forever.

Arnold helped her fasten the locket around her neck, and asked Miles what he'd like to do for Christmas. Miles, of course, suggested that they go see the movie that featured a more souped-up special effects version of his new alien blaster toy.

" Alright," Arnold said with a nod, " Would you like to join us, Helga?"

" Why not?" she said, " If Miles doesn't mind – I certainly don't have anything else to do." 

" I don't mind," Miles said, " When can we go, Dad? Can we go now?"

" I doubt they're showing it this early," Arnold said, getting up off the sofa. 

" I'll go get the paper. They'll have the show times in there."

Helga laid back on the couch after he left, making room for Miles, who invited her to help him complete a puzzle an old lady who lived in the boarding house had given him.

Suddenly, the screeching of tires. Then silence. Helga's heart froze – the car that had made the noise sounded like it was right outside. 

" Hang on, Miles," she said, jumping up off the couch to follow one of the male boarders to see what the commotion was. 

" Oh, God!" she heard the man exclaim when he opened the front door of the boarding house. Helga caught a glimpse of red over his shoulder. Dark red against the glaring white snow. Blood on the snow. Arnold.

She bounded down the stairs, tripped, and bashed her knee on the frozen ground as she fell. She couldn't move. She was shaking. The pieces of the scenario laid out before her started to come together slowly … Stinky… climbing out of the car … Arnold … clutching his side.

_' Call an ambulance!'_

' I didn't see him!'

' Somebody call 911, quick!'

' Daddy!'

' I was only going to get something from the store …"

The sounds around her seemed very far away. Helga crawled across the snow to Arnold, who looked past the man who was tending to him, right into her eyes, pleading with her. 

Those eyes. Those eyes that should have never known pain.

Helga flung herself to his side, just in time to catch her name on his last breath.

And then he was gone.

Everything was a red blur for a moment. There was blood on her clothes. Miles was screaming, two women from the boarding house were holding him back. Another man was threatening Stinky, accusing him of running Arnold down on purpose. 

" You were sitting there, waiting for him to walk outside!" the man screamed.

" Why in tarnation would I do that?" Stinky screamed back.

Helga knew why.

Stinky had run Arnold down out of jealousy. Because of her. Because of her.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, asking if she was okay. 

The answer was no.

Helga lifted her head and let out a primal scream that shook icicles from the rooftops, and then she collasped into a heap in the snow, unable to process this, unable to breathe without him.

To be continued in part 6

****

A/N: I know this is cruel, but I have to write the chapters this way to get the appropriate effect. And trust me, I'm not just killing him off for a new 'twist' or to try and make the story dark. So relax: there IS a point to this, and things aren't always as they seem! I promise I'll get the next part out soon (I should have a lot of free time this week, my boyfriend has mono!), and all questions will be answered then. 

Also, I'd like to apologize to any Stinky fans for villianizing him. I actually like Stinky myself, but I just had to use someone who would make sense: Stinky does, because of his former feelings for Helga. I KNOW it still seems way OOC, but I _promise_, it will all make sense in the end! Sorry for this cliffhanger! I promise the ending will be worth it. :o) ~ Mena


	6. Violins

Christmas in Brooklyn ****

A/N: Sorry this took so long to finish, but as you can see, this final installment is quite lengthy, and it was painstakingly crafted. :) Hope you'll enjoy the conclusion …

Christmas in Brooklyn

Part Six: Violins

" Sometimes I get the feeling

That I won't be on this planet

For very long.

I really like it here –

I'm quite attached to it

I hope I'm wrong.

All I really want to say: 

You're the reason I want to stay

I loved you before I met you

And I met you just in time

'Cause there was nothing left …"

~ Ben Folds Five

Helga felt cold. She tried to reach for something to warm her: a corner of the covers that she could pull over her shoulder, but her arms felt tired, and heavy. Her eyelids were uncooperative when she tried to get them open. Finally, she succeeded, only to find herself staring up at a bright, white light.

An angel? she wondered. She thought of Arnold, and the pain of the memory came rushing at her like a tsunami. She felt a hand on her arm.

" Oh, Mommy, Mommy look!" she heard her sister squeal, " She's opening her eyes! She's waking up – Dad, come quick!"

Helga turned her head, an effort that cost her most of her energy. She saw Olga leaning toward her on the hospital bed, pools of black mascara forming under her tear filled eyes. 

" Oh, my darling baby sister!" Olga gushed, sobbing, " You're awake at last!"

" Helga!" Miriam suddenly came running to Helga's side, dropping a cup of coffee on the way, ignoring the spill and grabbing Helga's other arm, " We thought we'd lost you!" Helga saw Miriam's eyes grow tearful, too, and she was shocked. She never thought her mother would shed a tear for her.

Bob was the last one to arrive at her bedside. Helga was surprised to see that his eyes were red from what looked like weeks of sorrow. He was haggard and unshaven, and Helga could feel his large hands shaking when he placed them gently on her feet at the end of the bed.

" Oh, come on, Miriam," he said in his gruff voice, pushing down any emotion, " We knew she'd pull through. She's a fighter, like her old man." 

Helga felt her own eyes tear up and overflow as she looked at her father.

" What are you all doing here?" she choked out, " What's happened? Where's Arnold?"

" Arnold?" Olga said, confused, " Whomever are you talking about, dear sister?"

" She's just tired, Olga," Miriam reprimanded. " Helga, honey, you've been in a coma for nearly a month. We've been staying here in Canada, waiting for you to get better – Oh, its been like a nightmare."

" Yeah," Bob muttered, " The morons in this hospital have no idea how to direct traffic. Just getting in and out of this madhouse everyday has been enough to raise my cholesterol levels."

" Bob!"

" Daddy!"

Helga silently forgave Bob, seeing suddenly what she'd missed in years of living with him. He was her. Everything awkward and mean that she'd ever said had been learned from him. She hadn't only inherited his thick eyebrows – thanks to him, she had the genetic makeup of a bully with a soft, inner core. But if there was anything she had learned from Arnold, it was that the soft, inner core was worth loving someone for. 

Arnold …

" Wait a minute," Helga said, feeling a bit stronger and struggling to sit up,

" You said we're in Canada? But I was –"

It was that moment that the doctors rushed in, eager to test Helga for this and that, to check her vital stats and prepare her for rehabilitation. Phoebe was not among them. 

It couldn't have been a dream, Helga assured herself as they prodded and poked her. But how could I have gotten back to Canada … unless I never left?

" Mom," she said quietly as the doctors left to go process her information, muttering amongst themselves about the 'miraculous recovery'. " Refresh my memory – how did I come to be … in a coma?"

" Oh, honey," Miriam droned in her sloppy voice, " You were in that awful, awful elevator crash. Remember? In the Turner building."

" And the old woman – what happened to the old woman who was riding with me?" Helga asked for the second time.

Miriam looked puzzled. She looked over at Olga, who shrugged.

" Helga, I was sure they said there was only one victim in the crash – you," Olga said, frowning slightly.

" Alright, back off, you two," Bob barked. " So she's a little delusional – what else is new?"

" Bob!!" 

" Daddy!!" 

All three of them were surprised to see Helga chuckle. She felt weirdly safe, and definitely comfortable, there in the quiet hospital room with her family. There were so many questions – she couldn't imagine what she'd gone through during her coma being only a dream – but if it was, that meant Arnold was still alive! I have another chance, Helga thought, pushing herself further up in the bed.

" So when's the soonest I can get out of here?" she asked eagerly. 

" What's your hurray?" Miriam asked, " You need all the time you can get to heal and recuperate."

" But I feel great!" Helga assured her. As if to purposefully spoil her mood, Dirk Kramer walked in the door as soon as the words had left her mouth.

" Darl-ing!" he said, clutching his chest. His voice sounded even phonier than Helga remembered. " Oh, what a re-lief!" he exclaimed, and Helga saw Bob roll his eyes as Dirk walked to her bed. She grinned.

" Dirk!" she said, reaching up to him and giving him a hug. She was in such a great mood suddenly that she could muster up affection for even her husband. 

" Miriam, Bob, Olga?" she said, " Could we get a minute alone?"

" Sure, hon," Miriam said, patting her hand, " I could use a drink, anyway …"

Helga gave her Mom and look, and then watched her parents walk out of the room with Olga. There goes the root of all my problems, she thought: my alcoholism and my cynicism. But what were parents if not the passers-on of un-wanted –isms?

" Baby doll," Dirk said, taking a seat on her bed, " You look positively aw-ful! Not to be insensitive."

" Never mind, Dirk," Helga said patting his back, " I always admired you for your frank-ness. You're like me in that way." He grinned.

" Helga babe," he said, " You'd better recover quickly. The bar scene in Canada totally sucks! What a bunch of back-woods buffoons, eh?" 

Helga laughed at his stupid joke. " I couldn't agree more," she said, grabbing his wrists, " But my parents want me to stay! They say recuperation will last months!" Dirk's eyes bulged.

" Look," he said, " I'm all for your recovery, lover, but I hope you don't expect me to stick around for even the rest of the week. I've only been here two days and already this crappy town and your parents are driving me crazy."

" You won't need to stay," Helga whispered, " We're breaking out of here today." Dirk frowned.

" Breaking out?" he asked, straightening his tie, " What exactly do you mean?"

" All I need you to do is steal a wheelchair and wheel me out of here without causing a commotion," Helga said, keeping her voice low. He made a pensive face.

" Dear," he said, " I may be somewhat depraved, but – stealing a wheelchair? That's beneath even me."

Helga gave him a knowing look.

" Alright," he admitted with a laugh, looking toward the ceiling, " Maybe not. But where could I find one?"

" Just grab one that isn't being used," Helga said, her grip on his arm tightening. She felt half mad, but she didn't care. She had to get to Arnold, as soon as possible. Her heart wouldn't be settled until she saw his face. " I'm sure they have a plethora of extra wheelchairs here."

Dirk regarded her seriously for a moment: " You really want me to do this, don't you?" he tested. Helga nodded solemnly. Dirk sighed, and ran a hand through his stylishly cut dark brown hair. Helga tried to remember why she'd loved him. Maybe because he reminded her so much of who she was trying to be when she projected her heartless, sarcastic exterior. Maybe she was just trying to love the person she thought she was.

" Babes," he said, standing, " I guess I just don't understand why we have to _sneak_ out of here. You're an adult – it's a free country … kind of. Can't you just check out on your own?"

" I could," Helga said, putting her feet over the side of the bed. " But that would take the filling out of papers, and fighting with my folks, and a lot of do-gooder whining from Olga – so just be a dear and steal a wheelchair for me, wouldya?"

Dirk finally agreed, and exited the room to look for a wheelchair. Helga couldn't believe he had listened to her – it must be his guilty conscience, she thought, surprised that he had one. The shock of having his estranged wife lapse into a coma in the midst of his latest extra marital activity must have been a big one, big enough to get him to actually show up at the hospital, which was impressive, for Dirk. 

Miriam came back into the room after he'd left, and told Helga that Bob and Olga had gone to get something for her to eat from the cafeteria.

" What are you doing out of bed?" she scolded. Helga rolled her eyes.

" Aw, Mom – I mean, Miriam – don't start treating me like I'm seven years old. I just want to get some clothes on, okay? This napkin thing they've got me in is drafty."

" Well, alright," Miriam allowed, " We brought some clothes for you – they might be kind of outdated, its stuff you had left at the house … years ago … you know." Helga's mother looked at the floor.

" Miriam," Helga said quietly, picking up the clothing she'd brought. " Can you shut the door?" 

Helga watched her mother look out the window as she got dressed in the black pants and light pink shirt she'd brought for her. Helga felt like wretching when she looked in the mirror – not only did she look like hell, she hadn't worn pink in years. Most of her adult clothing was in blacks and grays – colors that suited her business woman lifestyle.

Something dawned on her when she thought of herself as a business woman: " I haven't lost my job!" she exclaimed. Miriam looked up, surprised by her outburst.

" Of course not, Helga," she said, " They can't fire you for being a coma, for God's sake. That would be unusually cruel."

" You don't know the politics in my field, Mom – er, Miriam," Helga said, pulling on a pair of socks, " And anyway I had a dream that they did." 

" You dreamt while you were in the coma?" Miriam asked, curious. She had a new cup of coffee now, and she sipped from it timidly.

" Uh-huh," Helga said, " And I was thinking, anyway – maybe I'll quit the brokering business."

" But – why?" Miriam asked, panicked. " You were on the cover of Time magazine, Helga!"

" Yeah," she mused quietly, " I was really something." They didn't even want to her smile for the picture. She had been relieved. 

" And what would you do if you quit?" her mother asked.

" I dunno," Helga said, throwing her arms out and grinning wickedly, " Maybe I'll work at a Laundromat."

" Helga G. Patacki!" Miriam exclaimed, aghast. Helga giggled.

" Just _kidding_, Miriam," she said, " Geez, lighten up."

Helga saw tears pop into her mother's eyes, welling up behind the frames of her glasses. 

" I can't lighten up, Helga," she insisted in her permanently exasperated voice. " We thought you were … oh, I never would have forgiven myself if you hadn't woken up!"

" Why not, Mir?" Helga asked, placing a hand on her mother's shoulder to let her know that she was real, and safe again. Though personally, Helga knew she would always have a hard time believing in reality, now, after that gut-wrenching dream …

" Because I was a horrible mother," Miriam sobbed, " I might as well have cut the elevator cables myself!"

" Oh, stop it," Helga said, giving her mother an awkward hug, " You weren't … things could have been worse…" Not reassured, Miriam continued sobbing.

" Remember that one time we went on a road trip together?" Helga asked, and Miriam brightened a bit.

" Oh, God," she said with a grin, wiping some tears away, " I remember the bull ride …" she giggled, " That was a wild time."

" Its one of my best childhood memories," Helga lied, trying to make her mother feel better. Suddenly Dirk wheeled his assignment into the room.

" A wheelchair?" Miriam said, puzzled, " Is he taking you somewhere?"

" Yep!" Dirk beamed, and Helga was nervous for a moment, " I was going to take her for a ride around the hospital to look at the Christmas decorations – poor thing, had to miss Christmas, her favorite time of year!" He winked at her, and Helga thanked her lucky charms for Dirk's miraculous lying skills.

" Missed Christmas," Helga mused, taking a seat in the rolling chair, " What's the date today, anyway?"

" Why, it's the 26th," Miriam said, " You just missed it, I'm afraid." 

Helga shuddered in the wheelchair: her dream had ended on December 25th, and she had woken up on the 26th… odd.

" Well, we're off," Dirk said, starting to take her away. Helga caught sight of her mother's face as they were leaving: an excess of emotions were painted across it: guilt, happiness, bewilderment at today's events, and, at last, love. Helga had waited to see that look on her mother's face since she was a child. Maybe it had always been there, maybe she had only been blind to it, then.

" Wait," Miriam said, her voice threatening to crack again, " Shouldn't you take a coat?"

" Haven't got one," Helga said, " I guess my posh new Donna Karen number got burnt up in the crash."

" God," Miriam said, shivering, " Its such a miracle that you survived." She walked to her daughter and knelt down before her wheelchair, touching her face briefly, and then removing her own coat and wrapping it around Helga's shoulders.

" Stay warm," she whispered the words like a good-bye, like she knew Helga was leaving.

" Right then," Dirk said, jerking her out of the room, " Be back in a jiff!" 

Helga turned to look at her mother as Dirk wheeled her away. Miriam gave her a tiny wave. They rounded a corner, and she was gone.

___________

The house in Vermont was just as she'd left it when she'd gone on her business trip to Canada. Helga stood in the foyer of the estate for a long time, running her hands over things, memories flooding back to her.

She felt like a half a person. Like her dream had taken part of her and kept it in the world she'd visited while in her coma.

" Dirk," she called into the kitchen where he was fixing himself a welcome home sandwich, " Honey, I'm going to need the car." He looked up at her, confused.

" Don't you want to like, rest, or something?" he asked, taking a huge bite of his snack. 

Helga shook her head, " I don't have time," she said, " There's something I have to do. I have to do it right now." Dirk threw down his sandwich, frustrated.

" Helga, what the hell is going on?" he asked, " You know your parents have probably already left 200 messages on the machine since they realized you left the hospital. What am I going to tell them when they call again?"

" Tell them I'm coming home for awhile, but I have to take care of something in New York first," she said. " Dirk, this is over. You and I both know it. I'll get Maxwell to draw up the papers – you can have the house, but I want all the furniture I bought, the Explorer, and the boat."

Dirk's face went white. " Helga," he said, " I think you're sick …"

She laughed, " And I appreciate the concern, really," she said, going to the fridge and grabbing a banana and a few apples for the plane ride, " You haven't been this nice to me since we found out I couldn't have children."

He swallowed, " The doctor said it was important that I be supportive …" he muttered.

" I know, darling, and for all its worth, you did a bang up job, really," she said, " But I know you're having an affair – I mean, for Christssake – maybe letting your mistress answer the phone at our house was something of a give away?"

He put both of his hands on the counter and looked at the floor.

" Damn, Helga," he said, quiet, embarrassed, " Why are you taking this so well?"

" I don't know," she said with a small laugh, " I guess I've already … gotten used to the idea of us being apart." He looked up at her.

" Because I'm gone so much? On business trips?" he asked, " Well, you can't entirely blame me for that – you travel more than I do."

" No, no, babes, its not that," she said with a sigh, " Its this sort of premonition I had – oh, hell, I'm not one for explaining." She scratched her head, 

" I'm in love with someone else?" she tried.

" You are?" he asked, his eyes widening. Helga nodded slowly.

" I think so," she said, " I just have a feeling. You wouldn't understand – you were never a romantic."

" Guilty," he said, holding up his hands, " But I didn't think that was what you wanted."

" Me either," she said with a laugh, " But … well, maybe I did know. I think its just a case of me having _forgotten_ what I want."

" Alright," he said, leaning against the counter, in something of a state of shock, " You can have the boat. But I get the condo in Salt Lake City." Helga raised an eyebrow.

" Actually," she said, " I was hoping we could sell it and split the money."

" Damn you," he said with a devious smile, " I should have married a mindless pre-nup signing gold digger."

Helga grinned, " Here's to second chances," she said.

______________

Helga had a mental to-do list, which she reviewed as she buckled her seatbelt on the first class flight she'd booked to LaGuardia. She'd already accomplished the first two tasks on her agenda: Escape from the hospital and End the shallow marriage. And now she was working on her third step: Fly to New York. From LaGuardia she would catch a cab and go to Brooklyn, to the old neighborhood. If Arnold wasn't there, she'd search the world for him. She was ready to give up everything. She had never felt more alive.

Except for the fact that she was exhausted. The coma had taken its toll, and her muscles still felt apathetic and lousy. Though the plane ride would be under an hour of flight time, she knew she would fall asleep in her seat. 

A woman pushed her way through the aisle and took a seat beside Helga.

" I'm late," she muttered to herself. She looked at Helga, " They had to hold the plane for me," she said, " Can you believe that?"

Helga shrugged, staring at the woman. She looked eerily familiar. She was tall, with short, dark, unkept hair. She wore large glasses and baggy, hippie-ish clothes that didn't suit her thin figure. She noticed Helga staring and sighed hugely.

" If you're going to ask, yes, I'm Rhonda Rosewood-Llyod," she said, and Helga was practically thrown back against the wall of the plane with shock, " And I do give autographs – but they don't come cheap. Five dollars for the signature, and two additional dollars for each word of personal endorsement."

" W-what?" Helga stammered, still not believing that this rugged looking woman was the Rhonda she'd gone to school with. But she did have the same eyes, the same cheekbones … and certainly the same snotty disposition.

" Personal endorsement," Rhonda re-iterated, misunderstanding Helga's questioning, " You know, like, Dear So-and-so, it was nice meeting you, I'm so thrilled that you were inspired by my book – blah, blah, blah. That sort of thing."

" Rhonda – you don't recognize me?" Helga asked, and the seatbelt light flashing on above the cockpit. The stewardesses began going through the motions of their safety dance.

" Recognize you?" she asked, seeming offended by the suggestion, " I'm so very sorry but I meet millions of fans a day, and you just can't expect me to remember names, or even faces." She paused for a moment. " You weren't one of Devon's girlfriends, were you?" she asked, infuriated at the idea.

" No – we went to school to together," Helga told her. Rhonda rolled her eyes.

" Oh, boy, here we go," she muttered. And then she looked back at Helga, her eyes softening a bit behind the frames of her unattractive glasses. " Wait," she said, " You mean, like, little kids school?"

" That's one way of putting it," Helga said, as the plane began moving up on the runway, " We went to elementary school together. Remember? Helga, the bully?"

Rhonda's eyes bulged, and she burst into laughter.

" Helga – oh, it IS you!" she cracked up, " You're not ugly anymore! I never would have guessed. And these clothes! Very stylish. Kind of like the garments I might have worn before I was enlightened."

" Thanks?"

" Have you read my book, Helga?"

" Um … not yet?" Helga said, apologetically. 

" Well," Rhonda, not missing a beat, reached for her carry-on bag, " Lucky for you I carry a dozen of these suckers with me whenever I travel!"

" Oh! Heh."

" Helga, are you wearing lipstick?" Rhonda asked, hugging a copy of her book to her chest. 

" I think so," Helga admitted, touching her lips. I just wanted to look nice for Arnold, she thought. She realized how pathetic Rhonda would think her if she told her that she was running after her kindergarten crush, so she kept her mouth shut.

" Hel-GA," Rhonda said, handing her the book, which was titled: _I Thought Always Meant Forever_. 

" Doesn't it?" Helga muttered at the book's cover. As far as she knew the two words were still synonyms.

" Haven't you grown up enough to realize that wearing makeup and dressing in stylish attire is only perpetuating man's stronghold on us? Its completely misogynic to even consider buying panty hose. I mean, think about it, Helga. Who are you dressing up for? Your husband? Your lover? Why not dress for yourself?"

" Wow, Rhonda," Helga said, putting the book in her bag, " You've really changed."

" Well," Rhonda said, straightening the cowry shell necklace she wore. " Going through a divorce proved to be a truly illuminative experience."

" Oh, goody," Helga mused, " I have a lot to look forward to, then?"

" You're divorced?" Rhonda asked, jumping slightly and grabbing Helga's arm. She looked at her with the fresh eyes of sisterhood. Helga grinned. Seeing Rhonda on the plane definitely meant something. I'm on the right track, she thought. He'll be waiting for me – just like Curly said in her dream.

" Yep," Helga shouted over the roar of take-off. " Well, not legally, not yet. But I just told him I was leaving him today."

" Oh," Rhonda's face fell a bit, " _You_ left _him_?"

" Uh-huh," Helga said, " But he was cheating on me."

" The bastard!" Rhonda shouted, brightening. 

They discussed their loser ex-husbands for the remainder of the flight. Rhonda's was Devon Woodward, the actor.

" The sonofabitch just won an Oscar for playing some retarded guy," Rhonda lolled after she'd had a few glasses of complimentary first-class champagne. " I mean, for crying out loud," she scoffed, narrowing her eyes, " How hard is _that_? He practically was one on his own."

Helga giggled, and Rhonda asked if she wanted some champagne.

" No thanks," Helga said. " I don't drink. Anymore."

" Ohhhh, that's right," Rhonda said, sitting up, " You were a drunk in high school, I forgot."

" Yeah," Helga said, smoothing her hair and suppressing her impulse to pound the still pretentious yet less vain Rhonda into the ground. Rhonda promptly reached over and messed up her 'do.

" Hey!" Helga protested, " What's the big idea?"

" Forget your hair!" Rhonda said militantly, " Who are you trying to impress? Me? I like it better messy. Hey!" she screamed at the flight attendant, " What does a girl have to do to get a drink on this flying trash heap?"

" I used to have my own jet," Rhonda whispered to Helga, as an annoyed flight attendant filled her glass again. " I should never have tried to make my book into a movie," she added, giggling.

It was a forty-five minute flight, but with Rhonda's company Helga felt like she might as well have been flying to Siberia. When the plane finally landed at LaGuardia, Helga couldn't wait to get off. It was snowing again: fat post-Christmas snowflakes just beginning to come down as they landed.

Rhonda was smashed by the time they got off the plane, and Helga had to help her walk. She managed to find both their bags and to drag the intoxicated author out to the area where people were waiting for cabs. An enormous stretch limo awaited Rhonda, and Helga helped the driver hoist her inside.

" Helga, you're a pal," Rhonda slurred, " I'll never forget you again. You look great. Even though you shouldn't."

" Bye, Rhonda," Helga muttered as the limo driver shut the door. Glad to be rid of her, she walked over to the sea of yellow taxis to find herself a ride. Her heart rate was going faster now. She was so close. Only a thirty minute cab ride away. 

Unless the traffic was bad. It was the day after Christmas, and New York was swarming with gift exchanges and relatives on their way home. Helga fretted over this for a moment, and told herself to calm down. The traffic was nearly the least of her worries, though. The fact that Arnold's hypothetical wife might still be alive and well was making her sweat nervously, even in the freezing cold. Not to wish anyone dead, Helga quickly thought. It would just make things easier on everybody if Arnold wasn't already married …

Suddenly it hit her that this whole thing was insane. So she'd had a dream about Arnold. So what? She'd had tons of dreams about Arnold. Had they ever inspired her to leave her husband and go back to New York and try and woo him? No … but none of her previous dreams had ever been quite so intense. Every single detail of her coma-dream was burned into her memory as if it had actually happened: Phoebe's grandmother admonishing her in the hallway, Miles and his sugar cookies, that little sign swinging on Stinky's door the night before … Helga shuddered.

" Hey, miss!" one of the cabbies called to her in a thick New York accent,

" You need a ride or what?" he asked, holding open the door of his cab for her.

" Oh …" Helga said, shaking herself out of her thoughts and handing him her bag, " Thanks," she said, climbing inside. The snow, meanwhile, was coming down harder. Please, please don't let us get stuck, Helga prayed.

Her cab driver climbed in after dumping her bag in the trunk, and they were off, but slowly. The traffic was the worst Helga had ever seen it: she usually wasn't in the city around the holidays.

" So where ya headed?" the driver asked. Helga was surprised that he was Caucasian – it was a real rarity in cab drivers.

" Brooklyn," she answered, " Hillwood street. You know it?" 

The cabbie laughed shortly, " Know it?" he said, " Babe, I grew up there."

Helga's face went white – " You're kidding!" she said, " I just flew here next to a woman who grew up in Hillwood. Some coincidence." She knew it meant something. She knew she was doing the right thing. There were powerful forces at work here …

" What was the broad's name?" her cabbie asked. " The one you flew with."

" Rhonda Llyod – I mean, Rhonda _Rosewood_—Lloyd."

Her cabbie turned around, and she tried to place his face. Something about the shape of his chin and his easily sneering mouth looked familiar – but she was sure she didn't know those gray-blue eyes.

" No kidding," he said, his eyes narrowing a bit as he studied Helga, " I went to school with Rhonda Llyod."

" So did I," Helga said, frowning. She glanced at his cab driver's license. Thaddeus Gamelthrope.

" Curly!" she exclaimed, guilt at not recognizing her friend through adolescence washing over her. 

" That's what they used to call me," he said, grinning and glancing back at her, " But you don't look familiar. Who were you?" he asked, and his question struck Helga as heartbreakingly appropriate. 

" H-Helga," she stuttered a bit, and Curly nearly crashed as the recognition sunk in. 

" I'll be damned to hell!" he exclaimed happily. " It is you! I hardly know you without your mascara and lip-liner and all that mess." He snickered. 

" I hardly know you without your glasses," Helga returned, smiling. " You look great, Curly," she said, feeling shaken. He looked almost exactly as she had seen him in her dream. He wasn't as thin, and his eyes were brighter, but otherwise he was the spitting image of the adult Helga had dreamt him to be.

" You look good, too, Helga," he said, keeping his eyes on her as he drove. Helga wanted to hug him, but there was a little plastic wall between them. 

" Really?" she said, looking herself over. She'd tried to fix herself up as best she could for this trip. She had washed her hair and put on one of her most 'sophisticated' outfits: sleek black pants and a gray cashmere turtleneck. Over the ensemble was Miriam's somewhat out-of-place-looking waist-length jacket. 

" Yeah, really," Curly said, still beaming.

" So what's with the accent?" Helga asked, sitting forward and leaning over the seat in front of her.

" Oh," he said, dropping the inflection, " Its just something I do, heh. I'll cut it out if its on your nerves."

Helga reached over and pinched Curly's cheek, " Unbelievable," she said, grinning, " Curly, this is the best day of my life."

" What for?" he asked, looking back at her.

" I'm finally doing what I want," she said. She remembered her dream: Curly had kept in touch with Arnold, at least he had in that world, anyway. She toyed with the idea of asking about Arnold's marital situation. She was too afraid of the possible answer.

" So I read about all your big business stuff," he said, " Pretty impressive."

" I guess so," Helga said, " I think that part of my life is over." She felt a spot of déjà vu course through her – hadn't she said that before?

" I coulda been a soap actor, ya – I mean, you know," Curly said, raising an eyebrow. " But I didn't want that superficial life," he asserted proudly, " And anyway I like being a cabbie. Plus I do a buncha other stuff on the side, too. Like surveillance work? And for a while I was in Vegas, dealing cards. But that place starts to get to you after a while, you know? Oh – and snowplowing," he added, and Helga froze.

" Snowplowing?" she asked meekly, tremors moving through her. Curly had said he worked for a snow plowing business in her dream … hadn't he? Things were starting to get fuzzy. 

" Yeah," he said, " My buddy owns a maintenance business."

" Jake?" Helga asked, the name coming to her almost unconsciously.

" That's him," Curly said, turning around, surprised. " You've heard of Jake's Winter Maintenance, I guess?"

" No …" Helga said quietly, " Curly I need you to tell me something."

" Anything, my Nordic Princess," he joked, using his old nick name for her.

" Who have you kept in touch with over the years?" she asked, her heart thumping wildly, " From the old neighborhood, I mean."

" Well, let's see," Curly said, rubbing his bare chin. " Its not so much that I've kept in touch with people, per say, but I pretty much know where they all ended up."

" Really?" Helga said with a nervous laugh. " So where is everybody, then? I haven't kept up with anyone – not even Phoebe, not even you."

" Yeah, I was a little sore about that for a while," Curly said with a small smile, " You knew I had a big crush on you in high school, right?"

" Er – no," Helga said, " I had no idea." She tried to push the idea out of her mind for now – she had no time for Curly's past longings at the moment.

" Man, you were so clueless," Curly said, laughing and shaking his head. " You remind me of my ex-wife. No offense."

" Um, none taken," Helga said, wishing he'd get on with his assessment of their old classmate's present lives, " You're divorced?"

" Three times," he said with a shrug, " And don't let anyone tell you that the third times a charm, because it ain't. She was the worst of all of 'em!"

" You're doing the accent again," she informed him.

" Sorry."

" So, anyway," Helga said, " I certainly know now _in detail_ what Rhonda's doing these days – but what about everybody else?"

" Hmm," Curly said, " Well, you probably know Phoebe's a doctor."

" I had guessed as much," Helga said, her heart skipping a beat as she learned that another one of her dream's forecasts had been correct. But this one wasn't so spectacular: she had known Phoebe was majoring in medicine.

" Is she married?" Helga asked.

" The last I heard she was divorced," Curly told her, and Helga's heart faltered again. What if her dream had been exactly accurate at every turn – what if Arnold had died just yesterday in a car accident?

But no, that couldn't be true. After all, things were different. Without her in the picture, Stinky wouldn't be over-run with jealousy, if he were even still living in the old neighborhood …

" What about Stinky?" she asked. " What ever happened to that maroon?" She used one of she and Curly's old joking insults. He chuckled, and then became serious.

" He's in jail," Curly said with sincerity, and Helga shook her head. " Yep," he said, " Some girl claimed that he was stalking her, and he got in a lot of trouble. Poor dope."

" Don't feel sorry for him," Helga said quickly.

" Sorry," Curly said, " You're right. The guy always gave me the creeps in high school, maybe he really is no good."

" So what about the others?" Helga asked " Lila, and Nadine – and Arnold?" she managed to squeak out the name.

Curly gave her a look in the rearview mirror. " You were sweet on Arnold, weren't you?" Helga shrugged and looked out the window, convinced now that the news would be bad. Why did I have to wake up? she wondered – if only I had realized it was a dream while I was still in the coma, I could have saved him, or even gone back in time. But, in retrospect, it hadn't really felt like a dream where she had control of anything. It hadn't really felt like a dream at all – _hadn't she felt him inside her?_ Helga's lip quivered as she wondered how she could have been fooled by the guise of sleep. 

" I guess I kind of crushed on him when we were kids," she muttered.

" Well, um, let's see," Curly said, stalling. " Lila works for the Peace Corps-" Helga scoffed and Curly grinned. " Yeah, I know," he said, " And Nadine married some fellow entomologist. I think they live in Arizona. Somewhere in the south west."

" And Arnold?" Helga demanded, bracing herself. Curly turned and looked at her.

" Oh boy," he moaned. " This traffic! Hang on. Hang on just one second. I'm gonna pull over here."

" What?" Helga asked, " On the side of the road?" Curly didn't answer her, he just guided the taxi over the curb and parked there, earning honks from his fellow commuters. They had just gotten off the connector bridge – the Hudson River surged below them. 

Curly climbed out of the cab, and Helga followed.

" What the hell is this?" she asked, throwing out her arms, " Why did we stop?" Curly looked at her, and then at the river. He pulled a pack of Marblos from his jacket pocket, put one to his lips and lit it. 

" You want a smoke?" he asked, offering her the pack.

" No," Helga said slowly, barely even tempted, " I think I quit."

" I guess being in a coma will do that to you," Curly said, looking her straight-on.

" You knew?" she asked softly.

" I read about it in the paper. _Brokering Tycoon in Coma After Canadian Elevator Crash_. I tried to come and see you," he admitted with a dark laugh, " They only allowed family in the hospital room. But I stood at the door and looked in that little window. I could see your feet from around the corner." Helga smiled.

" So what I'm saying is that I know how you're going to feel," he said, flicking ashes into the dirty snow. Helga frowned, confused.

" What do you mean?" she asked. " What do you mean you know how I'll feel? How I'll feel about what?"

" About losing someone who's already gone," he said, not looking at her. " It's a freakin' weird feeling. I was afraid you were dead, Helga. And I'd … lost your friendship, lost my chance. You were right there … and I couldn't even open the door. I couldn't even look you in the face and say goodbye. I can't believe you just climbed into my freakin' cab."

" All's well that ends well, right?" Helga said, walking to him and wrapping him in a hug. She'd never hugged Curly throughout their friendship – but his arms around her already felt familiar, thanks to her dream.

" Helga," Curly said, his voice muffled in her hair, " You're going to be upset."

" What?" she asked, pulling back from him. She thought she saw the beginnings of tears in his eyes.

" Its Arnold," he said quietly, " I know he meant something more to you than _"

" What, what?" Helga asked, hysterical, grabbing his arms, " Just tell me, just say it," she demanded, crying already.

Curly wiped a tear from his gray-blue eye, " He's gone, Helga. He and his wife died five years ago on some expedition. Just like his parents. It was disgusting irony – I can't believe you didn't hear about it."

Helga let go of Curly's arms and sat down in the snow. Cars continued to pass by, and flurries continued to drift down past her face like so many frozen tears. But Helga began to slip out of the world. 

Just take me, she whispered silently to her head trauma, take me back to the coma, or even better, finish me off. Take me to him. She felt arms go around her, warming her. Yes, she thought, just take me to a warm place, away from this world. To him … she felt hands shaking her shoulders.

" Helga!" Curly's voice brought her back to reality. She wasn't dying. Helga put her face and her hands and cried.

_You have your whole life ahead of you_, Arnold had said in her dream. So why did she feel like she just lost it?

_____________

Curly took her to his place in the city. Helga didn't care where she went anymore. Her purpose for being in New York had just flown out the window with Arnold's soul.

So he'd died with his beloved. Helga wondered if her name was really Kathryn. She wondered if they'd had a child. Was there a Miles somewhere who was in the same situation his father had been in as a child? And a little blond girl who watched him from afar, her heartache growing with the years? Was life this unfair, recurring cycle?

Curly's apartment was tiny. Helga rested in his bed until dinner, while he and his roommate, a songwriter who played in all the Tribeca clubs, made dinner.

" Helga?" Curly's voice came quietly into the room as dusk fell. She watched the sky through his tiny window as she lay there, feeling as though she didn't have the strength to answer him.

He walked in and sat on the bed behind her. She wasn't facing him, but she heard his tiny sigh. He put a careful hand on her hair and moved it gently away from her face.

" Hey," he said, " Dinner's ready."

" Okay," Helga managed to say. She turned and looked up at him. " I don't know what my problem is," she said with a forced laugh. " He was just my … stupid girl hood fantasy." Curly shook his head.

" I would react the same way if you hadn't made it … out of the coma," Curly assured her. Helga didn't believe him. No one had ever loved anyone the way she'd loved Arnold. 

" Alright," Curly said, getting up, " Come and eat if you want. Kevin made beef stew." 

" Sounds good," Helga said, trying to lift her head. " Curly?" she called as he was leaving, her voice cracking, " Help me up?" He jogged to her side and gave her a hand, helping her out of bed.

" God, you're so weak," he said, " How long ago did you leave the hospital?" he asked her as they made their way to the kitchen.

" I left this morning," Helga said, taking a seat at the boys' small kitchen table, and nodding to Kevin, who served her a bowl of stew. 

" And when did you come out of the coma?" Curly asked curiously, accepting his own bowl from his roommate.

" This morning," Helga answered, deadpan. She tasted the soup and the liquid burnt the roof of her mouth and her tongue. But it was a good feeling, this small pain. It made her feel alive. I woke up from a coma this morning and walked the hell out of the hospital, she thought, finally hearing her own words. She felt all powerful, like nothing could touch her. Maybe that's the trick to losing everything, Helga thought, you're free of worry.

" This morning?" Curly repeated, shocked. Kevin laughed, thinking that she was joking around. Helga shrugged. Curly railed at her for a bit about her health. She couldn't believe he still cared about her, after the way she'd had to shun him and all of her other hard-drinking friends when she got out of rehab. She couldn't believe he'd come to see her at the hospital. She couldn't believe he hadn't pulled the door open when no one was looking.

" Helga, that's just crazy," he kept saying, shaking his head. " What the hell was going through your head?"

" I had an itch," Helga answered honestly. There was no way she could just lie there in that hospital room, wondering. Only now instead of having her itch scratched, the place it afflicted had simply been amputated. Her heart? Helga felt that she was still capable of love. But something in her was definitely missing. She couldn't put her finger on it.

She went to bed after dinner, and Curly came in not long after. He started to set up a place to sleep on the floor, but Helga insisted that he share the bed with her – it was a double, after all; they were both slim, and there was plenty of room. So Curly slept on top of the blankets and Helga slept beneath them. 

Only Helga didn't sleep. Despite her exhaustion, she couldn't take the risk of dreaming again. She could hear Kevin in his bedroom next door, picking on his guitar and working out the words to a song. She could just barely make them out through the wall.

" While roving on a winter's night," he sang, " … Thinking about that dear little girl – she broke this heart of mine. She is like … a budded rose – that blooms in the month of June. She's like some music instrument that's just been lately tuned."

" I helped him write this song," Curly said suddenly, making Helga jump. His voice sounded almost out of body in the dark room. All she could see was the square of window, snow falling past it onto the street below. " He never gives me any credit," Curly said with a small laugh.

" So you're a songwriter, too," Helga said, speaking soft through the quiet hum of the night in the room, " How did you know I was listening?"

" I don't know," Curly answered. They were both silent for a while after that. Kevin continued playing in the next room. But the music seemed eurhythmic; as if it was in the warm air inside the room and the cold snowfall outside.

" Who will shoe your pretty little foot?" Kevin sang, " And who's gonna glove your hand? And who will kiss your ruby lips, and who will be your man?"

Helga told herself that she didn't need that anymore. She gave up on love; there were more important things in life. Weren't there? She should have taken the hint when she'd learned that she was infertile. She wasn't meant to find love like other girls were. Helga felt tears slip down her cheeks.

" Perhaps I'll go to a far off land. A trip to France or Spain. But if I go ten thousand miles I'm coming back again." They heard Kevin finish his singing but continue the folk-y melody on his guitar.

" He's talented," Helga said, her voice coming out uneven.

" Don't cry," Curly said. 

" I can't help it," she said, sniffling, " He's right – I could go anywhere in the world, and I'd just end up back here. What is it about this place?"

She felt Curly's sleepy shrug move the mattress.

" Curly?" she said, after some silence, hoping he hadn't already drifted off.

" Uh-huh?"

" Did Arnold have kids?" she asked. She hoped he wouldn't think she was trying to torture herself. She just had to know if there was a Miles out there, lonely.

" Yeah," Curly said, " One kid. Its kind of sad."

" And what happened to him?" Helga asked through her fainthearted tears.

Curly sighed, " Its just a bad situation, Helga," he said, " Arnold and Kathryn – that was his wife - met at some kind of support group for adults who were orphaned as kids. Her parents weren't around to take care of the kid when she and Arnold died, and of course, he didn't have any family. He's been in and out of foster homes since he was around two."

Helga said nothing for a long time, letting the calm of the room wash over her. Maybe I could sleep, she thought. Maybe I was meant to live in dreams. I certainly grew up on dreams – dreams of Arnold, foolish things. Maybe it ruined me for the real world …

" I'd like to find him," Helga said, " I'd like to see him and make sure he's alright."

Helga waited for Curly to tell her she was being crazy. He rolled over onto his back, and Helga turned around to face him.

" Okay," he said, staring up at the ceiling.

" I'd like to go tomorrow morning," Helga added, challenging his dutiful nature.

" It'll be hard," Curly said, " The roads are a mess."

" But what about the snow plows?" Helga asked, her mind racing. This was something she had to do. She felt like she could see again – like this was what she was waiting for, the meaning behind the dream, the vanishing woman in the elevator, the night she'd spent with Arnold on some other plane of reality.

" I guess … I guess Jake might let me borrow one tomorrow," Curly said, slowly plotting. " But we'd have to walk to his garage in the Bronx."

" I don't care," Helga said, " I'd go anywhere." Curly looked at him.

" You really loved him, huh?" he asked. Helga smoothed the blankets over her stomach. 

" I know its hard to believe," she conceded, " I never even held his hand, never even spoke a single word of kindness to him without wincing."

" Its not that hard to believe," Curly said, rolling over. " Goodnight."

Helga tried to sleep, but then another question came to the surface in her mind.

" Curly?"

" Yeah?"

" What's his name?" she asked, " Arnold's kid?"

" Oh, hell," Curly said, racking his brain, " I forget … um …"

" Miles?" Helga suggested meekly. 

" Yeah!" Curly said, " Miles. How did you know?"

Helga didn't answer. She watched the snow fall again as she drifted to sleep. She was shaking all over – she hoped Curly wouldn't feel the bed moving. I've been given something, she realized as slumber overtook her. A crash, a coma, a dream, a meaning. The brightest point of light was suddenly in focus.

_______________

They left the apartment the next morning around seven A.M. Curly told her that Jake opened the garage at 8 A.M. on busy days, and today was certainly going to be a busy day.

" I'm on vacation this week," Curly said, as they trudged through the snow-covered, empty sidewalks. " From the snow plowing, anyway. I hope he won't want me to stick around and help him with his lots."

" I'm sorry," Helga said, " I didn't mean to get you wrapped up in this."

" Its okay," Curly said quickly, " I just hope you have the strength to make this trek."

" If it's the last thing I do," Helga muttered. She couldn't take her eyes off of the cityscape. She'd never seen the streets so empty, so white, so pure. The blizzard had managed to completely close down the burrows of New York, save for she and Curly, ploughing on through the dense banks, their dark winter coats making them two dark spots on an otherwise empty canvas. 

" What is this about, anyway?" he finally asked her as they were coming closer to the Bronx, which was as motionless as Brooklyn had been, " I mean, this whole crusade? Why is it so important to see Arnold's kid?"

" You're going to think I'm crazy," Helga said, " But then – I guess you already do." He laughed, but she remained serious. " I had a vision while I was asleep."

" A vision?" Curly said, " When?"

" During the coma," Helga said, " I was … with them. I was back in the old neighborhood, with Arnold and Phoebe and even this Miles who I haven't really met yet."

Curly was silent. Helga knew he wouldn't chastise her for being eccentric about this – he had been eccentric enough as a child, he knew the lifestyle.

" Are you serious?" he asked. Helga could see Jake's Winter Maintenance up ahead.

" I don't know," Helga said, " Yes? I think so. I just know what I have to do. Have you ever just had a feeling: suddenly things are clear, and you have a plan that you can't believe you didn't realize sooner?"

They both stopped walking in the snow to catch their breath while their goal was in sight.

" Yes," Curly answered softly. He took a step toward her and she turned to look at him. He bent his head slightly and placed a kiss on her frozen lips.

Helga stared at him after he'd pulled his head back from hers. She didn't know what to feel – she certainly wasn't in the mood for romance, but she appreciated Curly's efforts. Was he part of the plan, too? It had to be more than a strange coincidence – Curly, Rhonda, Phoebe – her past and her present, her dream and the reality that stood before her all crashed together like a violent ocean in her mind. 

" What was that for?" Helga asked him.

" Good luck?" Curly answered shyly. 

_______________

Jake rode along with them to the hall of records. The front seat of the snow plow was tiny, and Helga was smashed between Curly and Jake. She pulled her thigh away from Jake's on the seat, but she didn't mind the weight of Curly's arm against her own. 

" So you're lookin' for yah friends' kid?" Jake asked. He was a large, bearded Canadian man with friendly Santa-like eyes. His accent was catching – Helga didn't blame Curly for having picked up on his inflection. His driving was atrocious, but Helga tried not to notice.

" Yeah," Helga said, " You never know what you're going to get in a foster home. He could be fine – but he could be miserable, and I owe it to my friend to make sure he's okay."

" Shoo, I'll tell you what," Jake said, nodding. He turned up the fuzzy radio he had in the truck, an old Tom Petty song crooning through the truck. 

They arrived at the hall of records, and after some teamwork research, they came up with the name of Miles' currant foster family: the Pushkirks, who lived on Dogwood Lane in the suburbs near the city.

So on they drove. Helga felt nervous. What would she say to convince them to even let her visit with Miles? How would she explain her need to see him, to make sure he existed the way she remembered? If they're a good family, and he's happy there, I'll let him be, she decided. I just need to see him. She felt a pang of guilt as she wondered if her reason for needing to make sure Miles was okay was mostly because she wanted one last peek at the past she'd missed out on: 'the boy with the cornflower hair'.

The Pushkirk's house was a huge Victorian number on a hill. The snow was worse in their neighborhood than it was on the main streets. Jake finally made it to their driveway, and parked on the street. Curly climbed out first, and offered her his hand. Helga rolled her eyes at him and clambered out of the truck on her own.

" Shit!" she said as they made their way up the Pushkirk's icy driveway.

" What?" Curly asked.

" I've got to stop doing that," she said.

" Doing what?" he asked.

" Refusing people's kindnesses. I'm sorry."

" Hey," Curly said, shrugging. " Its nothing. Don't worry about it."

" No," Helga said, " It matters." They stepped up onto the large wrap-around porch. Helga heard music coming from inside – soft, practiced melodies floated out to meet them. Curly rang the bell and they heard someone shout to ' C'mon in!'. Curly looked at Helga, and she nodded. They pushed some snow away from the door and opened it.

Walking inside, they were hit by the strong scent of banana bread. Helga took off her hat and turned to the right of the foyer, looking into a room filled with winter morning light.

Three little Asian girls sat in the room, in antique high-backed chairs. They wore simple, long-sleeved dresses and Mary Jane shoes. Each held a violin, each moved her bow deftly over its strings, playing something Helga didn't recognize. The song was something beautiful and soft, and it matched the girls perfectly as they created its rhythms beneath tiny hands. It was the most beautiful scene Helga had ever laid eyes on, and she felt tears well up in her eyes. 

Curly nudged her, and she turned to see two middle aged people – a chubby man with glasses, and a thin woman wearing a huge sweatshirt with a teddy bear ironed onto it. They smiled at her politely.

" I'm sorry," Helga said, wiping tears from her eyes, " Your children are beautiful." She wondered if she shouldn't have said _your children_, since these Caucasian people who stood before her were definitely not the natural parents of the Asian girls. But the Pushkirks smiled sweetly, and thanked her.

" Ryo, Kai-shan, and Pai are such a blessing," Mrs. Pushkirk said earnestly, 

" They're Vietnamese – sisters who came to us only two years ago."

The violin music continued, and Helga couldn't stop her tears.

" This young man said you were interested in seeing our Miles," Mr. Pushkirk said, " Did you know his parents?"

" Um, only his father," Helga said, embarrassed by her weak argument for the privilege of visiting with Arnold's son. She wiped tears from her eyes, only to push fresh ones out with every blink.

" Miles just came to us six months ago," Mrs. Pushkirk said quietly, " He's had a hard time with some of the other families who have kept him – but we're trying to nurture his special needs as best we can." Helga nodded – the Pushkirks' way of speaking reminded her of her fourth grade teacher, Mr. Simmons. 

Helga looked back into the room with the girls playing violins, and let the music soothe the rage that surfaced in her as she thought of Miles being treated badly in other homes. Damn you, Arnold, she thought, why couldn't you have a desk job, and spare your son the trauma that you had to live through as a child?

Suddenly she saw something move by the window in the room, lit brightly by the sun that was finally re-appearing outside. In a flash she saw Arnold standing there – a bright flicker of shadow through the light. She blinked, and he was gone.

So this is your doing, Helga thought, her mood lifting with the notes of the girls' music. Was it Arnold's spirit that was behind the dream, her insistence on coming here – everything? Helga heard feet coming down the stairs toward the foyer, and turned.

Miles stood on the stairs, frozen as he looked at Helga. He was just as she'd seen him in the dream. His blond hair stuck up awkwardly as his father's had, but his eyes were the same unfamiliar pair she'd met in her sleep, and she knew they must be the influence of his mother's genes. At the moment they were wide and aghast.

" Helga?" he said, half terrified and half over-joyed. Helga nodded, and gave up on trying to hold back her tears. The girls stopped their music, and the only sound amongst the group of shocked people in the foyer was that of Miles' shoes hitting the floor as he ran to Helga and jumped into her arms.

Helga squeezed him to her and a rush of emotions surged through her. The part of her that had always been missing filled up and over-flowed. 

" From my dream," Miles whispered as she held him, and Helga nodded, still crying. But her tears were happy now, filled with the same kind of blissful fulfillment that she'd felt when she was in Arnold's arms. 

The Pushkirks and Curly had a million questions on the tip of their tongues that not even Miles and Helga could answer. But they kept quiet and let them have their moment – two lonely people who had thought life had passed them by. The brightest point of light in the room, the city, the world.

****

A/N: The words from Kevin's song are from " While Roving on a Winter's Night" by John Gorka with Dar Williams. I highly recommend both singers! They write their own music and play their own guitars. :) Well, that's it for this series! I'm considering writing a brief epilogue to clear a few things up, though. I hope you all enjoyed it! Thank you to those of you who read and reviewed - I've already started my next Hey Arnold! fic, and I hope you'll enjoy it, too. ~ Mena


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